The Beginning
by olympialynn
Summary: The final battle is lost. Galbatorix has won, but the Eldunarí have plans of their own. How can Eragon have hope when his Saphira is gone, and will a second chance do him any favors? Time travel fic.
1. Madness

Eragon's vision began to darken around the edges. The sounds began to swirl around him. Looking down, he saw a bone white blade protruding from his chest. He couldn't feel a thing, but his own rasping breath and the cackling of a madman met his ears. Looking left, as though from the end of a tunnel, he saw two great glittering red and blue beasts: wings shredded, eyes glassy.

"SA-PHIR-AAAAA!" No answer. Looking right, he met the unseeing jade eyes of his fallen companion. _Arya._

The black tunnel closed. His last sight was the pale blue glaring eye of the great black Shruikan. Then the cackling suddenly stopped, replaced by clanking steel on steel and panting breaths. Before long he heard a terrible cry and a sword clattering on marble.

 _Murtagh…_ A hot tear seared Eragon's cheek. _It is over. We have failed… I have failed._ The labored breath of Murtagh faded, leaving only the scraping of Shruikan's serrated claws across the marble.

 _Perhaps all is not lost._ Thrummed the voice of Umaroth. _We are proud of what you have accomplished Eragon. Though you are but a hatchling for a Shur'tugal, you have come closer to defeating Galbatorix than the thousands of our order before you. We have not the strength to overcome our enslaved brethren, nor the might to end the oath-breaker-king. However, we heart-of-hearts have one last gift. We have hope it will ensure a better end to this war. Have hope Eragon. Find your Saphira, and use what knowledge you have gained to your advantage. May the stars watch over you, and the wind always_ be _at your back._

Umaroth, wait- Eragon called, but the sounds faded as Umaroth withdrew from his consciousness. Eragon could see nothing and could hear nothing, not even his own ragged breath. _Is this the void?_ Eragon tentatively lowered the barriers of his mind. Unexpectedly, he wasn't attacked. Behind him, he sensed the glowing orbs of the Eldunarí. And in front of him was the shining mass that was Shruikan, and the even brighter Galbatorix, fueled by a thousand mad dragons. Nothing else. His friends were gone. His Saphira was gone. He focused on the Eldunarí, which seemed to be glowing... _brighter? Magic. The last gift?_ They continued to grow brighter until they outshone even Galbatorix. _Don't have enough energy to defeat the king?_

Eragon's eyes seared the deep red of bright light through closed eyes. He heard something. Wind. Rushing wind, and an anguished yell that must have been his own. He soon felt the wind too, rushing upwards, and a terrible pain from the sword jostling in his chest. Am I falling? Then all sensations ceased once more.


	2. Recollection

Eragon opened his eyes. Rough hewn beams of a low roof came into focus. The room smelled of cedar, and he could feel the warmth of a nearby fire. Despite the dull ache in his chest, the room was comfortable, almost familiar.

Then he remembered. The bodies of his friends were strewn around him. Nasuada looked on in despair, shaking with grief. The pain in Eragon's neck as he watched Shruikan's fangs sink into Saphira and Saphira's desperate roar as Galbatorix drove Vrangr into him. _I should be dead._

Eragon slowly started to ease himself up.

"Sitja," said a commanding, though not an unkind voice coming from his right. Male, older perhaps. Definitely familiar. "Stydja. Ono havr mïnen."

The meaning took a moment to register with Eragon. Stay, rest, you are injured. Eragon resisted the urge to attack. If this man wanted him dead, he could have slain him while he was unconscious.

However, the slight twitch of his sword arm was apparently not lost on the man to his right. "Mor'ranr, älfa. Eka aí vinr älfakyn," he said softly.

Elf friend _?_ Eragon slowly, painfully, turned to his right. He saw blue eyes and a long beard. Eragon gaped. "B-Brom?", Eragon asked. He couldn't believe his eyes. _Find your Saphira._ Eragon remembered. "Am I dead?", Eragon posed in the tongue of the elves.

A chuckle escaped the old man. "Almost. I doubt even an elf could survive a fall like that. Even after I stopped your fall, I wasn't sure you would make it. The sword punctured one of your arteries…"

Eragon barely heard what his father was saying. _Brom is alive! How? The last gift… Did the dragons bring him back? Did he save me? No. No one can raise the dead. What's going on?_

Eragon took a second to look around the room. The fireplace, the scrolls were strewn across the room. He remembered it from his childhood. He was in his father's house…in Carvahall. _I doubt even the dragons could bring back an entire village, let alone raise the dead._ _Then maybe the magic they worked was on me. Maybe they sent me back to before we fled Carvahall! Find your Saphira… Saphira! If Brom is alive, she could be too. I need to find her!_

He looked up. Brom had stopped talking, apparently aware that he was deep in thought. He waited patiently, looking unconcerned. "Here, have something to eat," he said, handing him a bowl of potato soup.

Despite the urgency of his mission, Eragon was starving. He took it readily, and when he finished, he finally asked, "What year is it?", asked Eragon.

Brom gave him a sideways glance. "7999 AC," he replied slowly.

Eragon thought for a moment. _Two years ago…_ "Has it snowed yet?", he asked, remembering that he found Saphira's egg roughly a week before a terrible blizzard.

Brom raised an eyebrow. "No. It has not. But, it's been getting colder. It's been frosting each night."

That was enough for Eragon. He bolted. He had to rescue his partner-of-heart-and-mind. He only made it to the door before the dull ache became a hot and searing pain. The room spun, and then Eragon collapsed once more.


	3. Questions

Eragon slowly regained consciousness. His chest was throbbing slightly, but it didn't hurt anymore. Eragon opened an eye, to see the room was empty. A pipe lay smoldering on the table next to an open scroll. It made Eragon smile. The house was just as he remembered. Odd artifacts and parchment were strewn about everywhere. With his keen eyes, he noticed that many were in the ancient language. _Can this be happening?_ He remembered a scroll he had read in Ellesméra about creating false realities. _Could this be a trick? Perhaps Galbatorix has gotten inside my mind._ He decided to play it safe, not to give any information away until he determined that he wasn't being deceived.

His stomach rumbled. He looked at the fire and saw a caldron hanging over it. He ladled some soup into a bowl from the cupboard. He grunted. _More potatoes… I guess there isn't much to eat besides meat and potatoes in the winters of Carvahall._ He doubted his father would take the time to jar fruits or vegetables.

"Has anyone heard from Eragon?" asked Brom. Eragon looked frantically around the empty room, determining that the sound came from outside near the front door.

"No. And it's been nearly a week. No one has heard from him since he left for the spine. Garrow is starting to get worried." replied a voice Eragon knew belonged to the blacksmith Horst.

"Has anyone gone looking for him?" Brom asked, sounding dejected.

"Not yet. But if he doesn't show in a few more days, I'm sure Roran will gather a search party."

Brom just sighed.

"Well, I'd best be off. Elain will want us home for lunch."

"Farewell." Brom replied curtly.

 _That's odd. Eragon thought. The longest hunting trip I ever took was my five day journey into the spine when I found Saphira's egg…_

The door nob turned. Brom was frowning more than ever. He locked eyes with Eragon, still glaring.

Eragon decided to play along with the idea that he was an elf. At least, until he figured out what was going on. He put his fingers to his lips in greeting. Though he opted not to say the accompanying words. Brom didn't seem to be in the mood for formalities.

Brom responded in kind.

"How long have I been out this time?", asked Eragon in the ancient language.

"Tell you what, I'll answer your questions if you answer mine," Brom said, his voice betraying none of the emotion in his eyes.

Eragon sighed. He had said it in the ancient language, making it an unbreakable oath. Eragon would get his answers if he gave some in return. "Alright," he replied.

"Who are you? Where are you from? How did you get here, and why the hell were you falling from the sky?" Brom asked, rather intensely.

Eragon got the feeling he was being interrogated. Even so, Eragon couldn't help but let out a short laugh. Oromis was right, his curiosity did come from his father. Eragon worded his answers carefully, knowing he could not lie in the tongue of the elves. He took the time to finish his soup.

"I am known as Firesword, and I call Ellesméra my home. I do not know how I got here, let alone why I would be falling from the sky."

Brom looked unconvinced. "Firesword, eh? Your armor is of dwarven make." It was not a question.

"Aye. It was a gift," said Eragon "from a dwarf."

"And my ring?"

Eragon looked at his hand. Aren was gone. Looking towards his father, he saw a familiar flash of blue on his finger. He gulped. How to explain this one? "A gift to me from Islanzadí Dröttning."

"To an elf?" Brom asked, his head tilting slightly.

Eragon blinked twice.

"And Brisingr and Islingr… also gifts?" Brom asked, sounding rather sarcastic.

"The blue sword," Eragon said, not wanting to catch Brom's house on fire, "I forged with my own hands."

At this, Brom's curiosity overcame the worry in his eyes.

"Islingr on the other hand…" Eragon stifled a laugh. "I suppose it was a gift."

"And who, may I ask, had the pleasure of giving it to you?"

Eragon's grin faded. There was no getting out of this one. "The Oath-breaker king. Galbatorix himself. Though I believe, he preferred to call it Vrangr."

"Galbatorix is the one who stabbed you?" Brom asked incredulously.

"Aye."

Brom's calm demeanor faltered. He knew that Eragon fully believed that what he said was true. So he was either raving mad or the King was nearby. Possibly out to get his son…

Eragon saw the panic starting to overcome Brom. "Not here," he said quickly. "Not here… in Ilirea." Eragon said, opting to use the original elven name for Urû'baen. "Galbatorix stabbing me… it's the last thing I remember before awakening here."

Brom's hand inched toward his sword's pommel.

"I am a friend, Brom vinr älfakyn. I am not in league with Galbatorix. I have sworn no oaths to him. See for yourself if it pleases you. And I mean no harm to Brom, the Varden, the dwarves, or the elves." Eragon said while twisting his hand over his sternum in the elven gesture of loyalty. "Can the same be said for you?"

Brom's eyebrows raised. "It can Firesword. I am Brom of the Varden."

Eragon would have leapt up and hugged his father then and there. But his partner-of-heart-and-mind was out there. Nothing else mattered at the moment. So instead, he nodded, saying "One cannot be too careful."

"Indeed."

"Now I believe you promised me some answers Argetlam. How long was I unconscious? And has it snowed yet?" Eragon asked, rapid-fire.

Brom looked a bit taken aback at the use of the title, and sadness clouded his eyes. "Aye Firesword, and so did you." Brom said, acknowledging the fact that Eragon had answered some if not all of his questions with half-truths. Though he answered nonetheless, satisfied that Eragon was not his enemy, and not wanting to start a feud between immortals. "After you collapsed, you entered the deep healing sleep of your kind. You remained so for three days. And nay, it has yet to snow."

Eragon's eyes widened. He raced across the room full speed, grabbing Brisingr faster than Brom could see. Then he bolted out the door once more.

Eragon raced faster than a galloping horse. _Barzûl!_ A hundred yards down the path was Sloan, gawking at him. "Slytha." he whispered, hoping that making him fall asleep would be enough to convince him it had been a dream. Sloan collapsed, but Eragon noticed the toll the magic took on him was larger than anticipated. Eragon continued to run the familiar path to the spine, chanting as he went. He glanced at his glowing right palm, before his hand, and the rest of him was rendered invisible by his spell. He gawked at his invisible hand. The gedwëy ignasia was gone.

 _What is going on? My younger self is missing, and I'm… I'm not a dragon rider. Yet, I can still do magic… I guess that's part of my transformation,_ Eragon thought, racking his brain. _Aren! Brom seemed to believe i stole it. If Brom still had his ring, he would have thought nothing of it. I suppose only one of something can exist. So, the older ring replaced the younger… Meaning, I must have replaced my younger self. So, I never brought the egg out of the Spine…_

Eragon released the magic that rendered him invisible as he entered the Spine. He raced along the edge, towards his old home. A journey that would have once taken over an hour took only minutes. He stopped suddenly at the edge of the forest; he spotted his farm. His old home… Tears welled in his eyes, but he did not dwell on it. He found the deer path he had followed two years before. He had to slow down a bit, so he didn't miss it in places. He wound his way through the trees for a good twenty minutes before he lost it. The deer he had been tracking must have sensed it was being followed and had shot off on a new path. He sighed. How would he follow? His younger self had passed six days before.

Arya's words came back to him. … _my guess placed me forty miles west of here, and that was close enough for me to locate you by listening to the whispers of the land. If a rider didn't walk the land unnoticed, then surely neither would a dragon._ The art of paying attention she had said. So Eragon opened his mind as he did during his meditations, but left his eyes open and his ears alert. The evening light tinged everything faintly orange, and the familiar mist covered the ground. A faint scent of human sweat hung in the air, and though rain had washed the footprints away, the trail of broken twigs was unmistakable. He found his camp site from his third night in the spine and knew he was close. Memories of the inhabitants of the forest flooded through him, and many remembered the loud cracking sound a few days before. Soon he could smell charred wood. He ran as fast as his legs would carry him, leaping streams and brambles, ducking branches. Then he saw it. The sight made his breath catch. A large, round, sapphire-blue stone in a circle of dead foliage and charred trees. He walked to it silently, as though worried it would dash away into the night like a dear. He touched it gingerly, tracing the white veins on its glittering surface. Everything was silent. The birds and even the insects were waiting in anticipation. Then a new conscience met Eragon's. It was vast and wise, though innocent. Not to mention highly familiar. Relief flooded through him. And pure, intense jubilation. The small dragon seemed to share in his contentment.

For a good hour, the forest waited with Eragon in hopeful silence. Nothing. The egg did not stir. Saphira, it seemed, was content to remain in her egg. _I suppose_ , thought Eragon after waiting a while longer that Saphira doesn't think an exposed clearing deep in the Spine is the safest of hatching conditions. He looked longingly at his right palm. The small dragon seemed to agree.

It was a strange experience, for his mind to be connected to Saphira's, though not bonded. Strange music flowed in her mind. Wilder, and more powerful than any elf's — more instinctual. Her mind seemed vast and unknowable, incomprehensible. Though he knew her perhaps better than he knew himself. She was obviously pleased with herself. Her rider was near. That much they both knew. It did much to fill the void in Eragon's soul. For the first time in a long time, Eragon truly had hope.

The run back to Carvahall went by quickly. The trees blurred by and the sun dipped behind the mountains, casting the forest in shadow. A journey that had once taken five days now took him less than half of one.

The presence of a mind, Eragon knew, could not be faked. His Saphira was real. All of it was real. His situation truly dawned on him for the first time. His father was alive! So was Garrow for that matter. Roran was where he belonged, on the farm, not the field of battle. Oromis and Glaedr still stood, waiting for him in Ellesméra. Ajihad, Hrothgar, and Islanzadí ruled the Varden, dwarves, and elves. Murtagh would still be in Urû'baen and Arya… Arya is on her way to Gil'ead… with Durza…

This realization shattered his fragile peace of mind. He resumed full gallop, furiously hurdling obstacles and skirting trees. He was headed back to Brom's house. _He would know what to do. But Brom would stay in Carvahall. He would stay and do his duty to protect himself until he could train the next rider, not follow me on some far-flung mission, regardless of our relation. I am not a rider._ Eragon thought despairingly. For it had become his entire life, his entire identity. _I am not even human anymore. Saphira was wrong… I have changed so much my own father doesn't know me._

Eragon sensed a slight change in the blue egg's mood. She deepened the connection between their minds, sharing her contentedness, giving him reassurance. She would hatch when the conditions were right. _It took weeks for you to hatch last time._ He replied in the ancient language.

The madness, the madness of feeling half his soul die, was a void that an egg simply couldn't fill — no matter how hard it tried. So Eragon, gave in to the impulsive thoughts that raced through his mind — defying logic. _Explaining this whole situation to Brom would take too long. Besides, I can get there faster on my own._ _I'll go and rescue Arya myself. I'll need provisions…_ He didn't want to steal anything. Though he was being reckless, his intentions were still noble.

He changed course. Shades of deep green flew past him, indistinguishable. The egg was held tight in his arms. He bent light around him so that he could not be seen. The stars became visible, clear and bright, as he came to the edge of the Spine. A small thatched house came into view. Smoke billowed from the chimney. Though the shutters were closed to keep out the cold, dancing firelight glowed under the door. He silently trecked past the house, into the pasture.

Bending down, he placed both palms on the ground, chanting long and low — singing to the ore in the earth. Glittering flecks rose above the frozen ground, gathering into a perfect sphere of pure gold. It was just small enough to fit into his closed hand. He paused, thinking for a moment. _This cannot show that magic was involved in it's making, or Sloan would never accept it as payment. Perhaps even the traders would refuse it_. So he continued his chant. The sphere seemed to turn to liquid, and it separated into three parts, which molded themselves into simple bands to put on one's finger. Eragon inspected his work.

Satisfied, he rose and made his way to the shuttered back window, opening it with magic. He gently climbed inside and looked around his own room once more. A twisted branch rested on a low shelf. His heart ached. _Home_. Sounds of a crackling fire and clanking dishes met his ears.

Eragon got to work. He searched for things that would be useful on his journey — his bedroll, wood frame pack, and hunting knife. _Blast. My younger self took it hunting_. He remembered the hole in his tunic, left by Islingr. He rummaged through the chest at the foot of his bed, found a cotton shirt, and pulled it over his head.

Rip.

 _I guess I've grown a bit in the past two years_. Eragon thought with an invisible smirk. The noises from the kitchen ceased. Eragon froze. He heard light footsteps coming his way. Roran — clean shaven and unarmed — poked his head in the door. Eragon involuntarily gasped. Roran took a step closer, looking straight at him. They were standing nose to nose. Roran looked around a bit, then shook his head, not noticing Eragon's dim shadow. He turned around and left.

 _Too close_. Eragon waited, then heard the scrape of a chair, and the pop of a log falling in the fire. He stuck his head out the door. Garrow had his back to him and was tending to the fire. Roran was finishing his stew. Both of them were solemn. Eragon silently padded into Roran's room, pulling the door gently open.

Creak.

Roran's head whipped right towards the now open door. "Just a draft," said Garrow. Roran nodded, still gazing suspiciously.

Eragon slid through the narrow opening. He found Roran's bedroll, a leather pack, a few cotton shirts, a leather jerkin, some gloves, a small hunting knife, and a waterskin. He pulled everything into the pack, and speaking as quietly as he could, extending his spell to it, causing it to vanish. Lastly, he found a spare bit of vellum and a quill occasionally used for arithmetic.

"Payment," he wrote, pausing, deciding what else to add. An explanation for his disappearance? A warning of what may lie ahead? He decided against it. Anything I tell them will just put them in more danger. If they aren't connected to the egg, the Ra'zac may just leave them alone.

He placed the note and the rings on a shelf near Roran's bed. A pot would have been useful as well, but he didn't want to risk another close encounter. _Besides, it would only slow me down more_.

Instead, after a longing look at his family, he slipped back into his room, out the window, and closed the shutters behind him. He muttered, "laesa," to lock the shutters, before running off into the night.


	4. Marna

Hey beautiful readers, Olympia here, this is my first battle scene, so please be kind. Which is also why it obviously took me a while to come up with (a whole month!) On the plus side, it's also my longest chapter yet, so enjoy!

* * *

Eragon ran through the night. He kept his mind open, and could sense the many sleeping inhabitants of Therinsford as he passed, keeping close to the Spine to avoid detection, and following the Anora River. By the time dawn broke ahead of him, Utgard's silhouetted steeples had arisen before him. Suddenly, he saw it as it was being built. Dragons carried the large black stones to the top while their elven riders sung them into shape. Another of the Eldunarí's memories was brought forth, and he saw it as it had once been, Edoc'sil, the unconquerable mountain. Jewel-bright dragons of all shapes and colors flew about. One dove into the forest nearby, on the hunt. Now, however, it was a crumbling monument to the lost order's former glory. _Ristvak'baen… a place of sorrow indeed._

Brom had told him, so long ago, that few people roamed these parts, besides a few nomadic tribes. So, he continued full speed as the plains opened ahead of him, and the Anora veered north. The cold didn't bother him much, he had a warm cloak. But the wind still got to him. As his lips started to crack, he wished desperately for some nalgask. He held back tears as his eyes burned.

Around noon, he sensed the rough minds of a company of Urgals heading south. He had no desire to kill them, for they were being manipulated and controlled by the mad king. Instead, he ducked behind a small outcropping and waited for them to pass. Sword at ready, just in case. When the wind changed direction, he could smell them, and realized his mistake. Urgals, he knew from his lessons in Ellesméra, could catch a scent just as easily as he could. Sure enough, he sensed from behind his rock that a few were headed his way. None of the minds around him were well guarded, so there were no spell casters with them. "Slytha."

Thrump.

He peered around the rock. A hundred sleeping urgals met his eyes, scattered in the tough plain grasses blowing in the wind. He took a sharp intake of breath, then approached the nearest one cautiously. He reached out with his conscience, invading the Urgal's mind, and deftly slipped through his defenses, causing less pain to the slumbering urgal than a direct frontal attack. Still, the urgal grunted and twisted fitfully. Eragon entered his mind, raw and wild, yet rigidly structured. Eragon skimmed over many memories, not trying to dredge up his entire life, as he merely wanted to know the company's orders. He couldn't help but see a few things in Gritzvak's mind, especially as he came closer to the information he sought. The urgal village was gathering for the announcement that they would be fighting for Galbatorix. The uneasiness Gritzvak felt about it, and the determination to do it anyways to protect his family. His tearful mate as they said their goodbyes, and his young cub lifting his chin high and placing his fists on his forehead, promising to hunt well to provide for the family, and to fight hard to protect them. Finally, Eragon found what he was looking for.

Eragon retreated into his own mind. The urgals were headed towards the River Ninor, the nearest source of water. They were to wait on the other side of the river for further orders. That was all they had been told. He could only guess, but considering the time frame: the Ra'zac, he thought as his heart filled with dread. He remembered the Ra'zac's prints along with an Urgal spear in Yazuac. The empty streets and the villagers piled in a heap… _The fastest way to get to the Ninor is to pass through Yazuac… These are the urgals that will decimate the village._ Tears began to well in his eyes. He let out a heavy breath. He could kill them all with a single word. The village didn't have to suffer. But this wasn't battle, it would be genocide.

He climbed onto an outcropping to sit and consider his options. He wouldn't kill them; he couldn't. But neither could he simply let them go. If his rescue plan succeeded, and he could drive his sword through the vile shade once more, the Urgals would be released from bondage. _I could let them sleep until then. But, then again, they might starve before that happens, and if anyone came across them they would be slaughtered… or eaten in the Ra'zac's case,_ he thought, shivering slightly. _If they continued, they would reach Yazuac in less than two days, which doesn't leave me enough time._ He sat for a while more, pondering.

He jumped the 15 feet down from the rock, heading back towards the Urgals. He uttered a simple spell, using the Urgal's own energy. When the urgals awoke in a few hours time, the spell would confuse their sense of direction, so they would head back North to the Anora and wait on its north shore. There were no villages along that route, so there wouldn't be too much cause for trouble. Satisfied he had taken the course with the least potential for bloodshed, he continued once more.

The endless pounding of his feet upon the ground lulled him into a kind of trance. There was nothing to keep him from brooding since his only company were the birds, whose memories he consulted for navigation, and the silent egg wrapped in blankets and stuffed into his pack. The endless tan and swaying grasses offered him little distraction. So for much of the day, he tried to think of anything but the horrors Arya was even now enduring, though he could think of little else.

* * *

By late afternoon, the massive trees of Du Weldenvarden were in view, and in the evening, he came to the shores of the sparkling lake Isenstar. He remembered with a pang his romp with Saphira in Leona Lake. He continued into the night, doubting he would encounter anyone. Humans kept to the southern edge of the Isenstar, and the elves rarely came west of Osilon.

Arya had been captured by Durza near Osilon, and taken South to Gil'ead. It had been four days since her capture, so Eragon figured they would be emerging from the forest any day now.

He continued through the night. In the light of the moon and stars, he could see as well as if it were day. But come dawn, unable to continue any further, he set up camp on the northern edge of Isenstar. The wind had died as he had left the plains, but he could still see his breath in the frigid air. Not wanting to draw attention to himself, he did not start a fire. Instead, he went to the edge of the lake. He found a large flat stone and set it down next to the small cave in the bank where he had laid down his pack. He pulled out some potatoes — ten of them — brought from Carvahall and some other edible roots and berries from the forest where he had stopped for a drink. He cut the potatoes in half with the hunting knife and lay them flat against the stone along with the roots. "Verma." The stone began to glow slightly red as the vegetables roasted. He ate the berries in the meantime and tried to stretch his legs, which screamed in protest. Though the blow Galbatorix had dealt him had healed — thanks to the Eldunarí — his chest still ached vehemently, along with the rest of him.

When he deemed the vegetables ready, he ate ravenously. He closed the mouth of the cave with brush to hide it from view and keep a bit of the heat in. He transferred what little energy he had left into Brisingr's pommel. Then he lay down in his cave, curling protectively around the blue egg, lending it his warmth, as Saphira had so often done for him. It wasn't long before his breath slowed, and he eased into his waking dreams.

* * *

By the time Eragon opened his eyes, the Sun had already begun its descent. Securing Saphira's egg in his pack and his sword to his side, he continued to skirt around Lake Isenstar.

Eragon could only hope that he was ahead of his quarry. Though a kull could keep pace with him over long distances, the regular urgals accompanying the shade moved at a much slower pace, akin to a trotting horse. They, however, had a much shorter distance to travel.

He had a decent knowledge of the geography of the area from the many long hours in war council spent staring at battle maps. If he continued along the lake's southern bank, he would come to the mountain Marna. If I remember right, the pass between Isenstar and Marna is the most direct route to Gil'ead, and should be 30 miles wide at most. _I should be able to set up an ambush and sense them coming… somehow._ He was only able to sense minds a few miles away. He could think of no better plan, however, so he continued towards Marna.

By the time he reached His destination, the moon was at its peak, and the bright sentinels of the night shown overhead. A low mist had rolled over the lake to his right, and Marna's silhouette loomed to his left. The plains in between seemed eerie and desolate. Eragon drew heavy breaths, trying not to pant. The blisters on his feet begged to be healed. He needed food. Food and rest.

Those things, however, presented a problem. Looking around, he realized there was nowhere to hide on the open plains. _I could probably go up the mountain, or to the river bank to find shelter, but I may miss my chance altogether…_ _No, I can't leave the plains._ Which meant, if he entered his waking dreams, there was a good chance he would wake up in a cell in Gil'ead. _Not a good option either_. A _nd, if I'm trying to keep surprise on my side, that means no fire either._ His mind wandered to the night when the spirit lights visited him and Arya. _She said they came to see why we were using magic… and if spirits can sense when someone is using magic… even heating up some water could give away my position to the spirits entrapped within Durza._

 _So… I'm out of food, and I can't rest. And anything I could catch I can't cook._ He searched the frozen ground, trying to forage for something. All he found were some mushrooms under some shrubbery, but remembered they were fairly inedible, and possibly poisonous without being cooked. _So, no food then._ By now his feet were dragging. And, having stopped running, the cold had finally gotten to him. He pulled his cloak tighter around him. Suddenly, the idea of taking on a shade and who knows how many urgals alone sounded insane. _Well, I need to get energy somehow._ He thought, hating what he was about to do, and hoping that it wouldn't draw Durza's attention.

He walked for hours, drawing energy from the plants and animals around him. He was careful, so he wouldn't draw more energy than the small organisms could handle, though he was not as careful had been during his training,. When he was at full strength, he started channeling the energy into Brisingr's pommel, since he didn't have Aren or the belt of Beloth the Wise. The energy wasn't satisfying like food or rest, but it eased his aching muscles and kept him alert.

He took a moment to check his wards. "Hellfire!" He had none at all. He had nothing to protect himself: no shield, no wards, no armor. For he had left his armor behind at Brom's. He felt naked. He had not been without wards since he had first learned about them in Ellesméra. _What was I thinking_? The answer, of course, was that he hadn't been. His grief had been so intense, that when offered a chance to be reunited with those he loved most, it had become all consuming.

 _So much for not revealing myself._ He continued to walk for miles over the plains, drawing the energy into his spells instead of his sword. He spent much of the day casting wards about himself and his pack, speaking barely above a whisper. He cast long, complex ones he had memorized long ago, and ones that blocked every kind of attack he could recall encountering. Even ones against such things as dragon fire, which he doubted he would encounter. He added a new one to his repertoire. One to ward against Urgralgra horns — inspired by one of Roran's many escapades. After another moment's thought, he added another. This one to prevent others from detecting his scent.

He finished, sitting down with his back against a thick and leafless maple tree, staring sightlessly at the horizon. Five days have passed since Arya was captured. _I need a strategy. Only four people in recorded history have survived slaying shades — though perhaps I should say two, considering Durza is alive and the shade Arya slew has never existed…_

He had been in Durza's head. In fact, he had believed himself to be Durza, lost in his memories for an entire day after slaying him. _Durza is indeed powerful_. _He is faster and stronger than any man… then again, so am I…_ _His power, however, makes him vain._ He remembered Durza entering his cell in Gil'ead just to gloat. Then, the constant fury in his eyes that flared when provoked, making his swings reckless, but also more powerful. _He also likes to toy with his enemies._

 _Durza has just won a great victory. He captured the first elf to be seen since the fall. Though he's most certainly furious over losing the egg. Hopefully, I can use his pride and recklessness to my advantage._ He looked up to see a vulture was circling overhead. It dove down and dug its claws into a fallen white rabbit. Eragon cringed. _Perhaps it will also help if I convince him I am worthy of a good duel. He may attempt to drag it out as he did in Farthen Dûr._

Eragon got up. He continued his silent trek, drawing energy into Brisingr long into the night. The uneasiness of the coming battle haunted him. _I have done this before, and when I was 16 and had been fighting for an entire day without respite or wards. I am much stronger now._

These arguments, while sound, did little to quell his unease.

The fact was undeniable: he was utterly alone.

Soon enough, the insects' nightly chanting waned, and Eragon listened expectantly for the first birdsong. It didn't come. Even as the first rays of sunlight streaked from behind Marna, the Earth was unnaturally silent. Eragon didn't dare to reach out with his mind to see what was going on. Instead, he tightened the barriers around his mind and scoured the horizon. Sure enough, Eragon saw a line of black silhouettes.

Eragon widened his stance and drew his sword. As the figures approached, slowly but surely, he viewed nine Urgals: horned and bow-legged. A few yards to the side was a man on a horse, with something strewn carelessly over the saddle. _Arya_. Hot fury rose within him, willing him to charge the shade then and there. Instead, he cleared his mind. He needed to view the situation with logic, and see what was in front of him, as Glaedr had put it.

He reached up and pushed his hair behind his pointed ears, so they were clearly visible. His strategy was what Brom probably would call foolishness. But to quote Brom himself, courage was three parts foolishness anyways. He stuck his sword, unsheathed and glinting, in the frozen ground, resting his hands on the pommel.

The shade saw him long before the Urgals, and they locked eyes. Durza looked amused. When they noticed him, all nine Urgals knocked their bows. Durza held up his hand, but not before an arrow flew. It stopped a handbreadth from Eragon's left shoulder, shattering. Eragon didn't flinch.

The shade, hand still raised, spat in the ancient language "Do you have a death wish elf? Two of your kin have already fallen, and see I have captured another." he gestured towards Arya.

"I am no elf." said Eragon calmly… _well, I'm not entirely an elf_.

Durza's eyes narrowed. "Then pray tell, what be you?"

Eragon gave a cool smile. "I am the Shadeslayer, wielder of Brisingr," his sword bursting violently into blue flames. Eragon stood unmoving.

Durza's translucent skin, if possible, became a bit paler. For he knew Eragon spoke the truth. After a few moments, he said, red eyes veiled, "Regardless of what you call yourself, you will fall."

In Eragon's detached state, Durza's words had little effect on him. He forced out a humorless laugh. "Perhaps. But first know this. I have fought and defeated shades thrice before. I drove my flaming sword into one's heart myself."

At these words, the dark shade went slack-jaw. The fire in his eyes was momentarily snuffed, revealing the paralyzing fear of Carsaib, the man he had once been. The lapse was momentary, however, and soon the fury of the entrapped spirits was unleashed once more. He leapt from his horse while drawing his scared blade, then crossed the clearing in two strides and brought it down hard with a two-handed blow towards Eragon's neck, letting loose a deranged and screeching war cry.

Even with his speed, Eragon barely brought his blade up to block in time. Nevertheless, he let loose a smile. Durza was right where he wanted him: reckless and safely away from Arya.

Eragon went on the defensive, repeating a scrap of poetry to guard his mind so he could focus on the swordplay. He had been in Durza's mind before, and it had nearly driven him insane. That was not something he wished to repeat.

Durza continued to reign down heavy blows, which Eragon skillfully deflected. Their duel continued for what could have been minutes or hours, the ground shaking and the Urgals watching at a distance in silent awe. Durza grew increasingly frustrated, while Eragon patiently refused to attack, waiting for the opportunity to strike a winning blow.

Durza muttered something incomprehensible, and as he slashed, his sword sparked blue, breaking through Eragon's wards. It met Eragon's right arm hard, breaking the bone and rendering it useless. Brisingr fell.

Eragon dropped low and caught the handle in his left, slashing Durza across the kneecaps. The shade bent over, screaming with rage.

Eragon took the moment to mutter a quick "Waíse heill" to stem the flow of blood so he wouldn't bleed out. The rest he could deal with later.

Durza looked up and snarled. He lashed out again, amazingly, gathering even more force than before. Every block sent a sharp jolt through Eragon's arms. He had to hold his sword with both hands. The blow to Durza's knees, however, made him noticeably less agile.

Eragon gained the upper hand and was able to go on the offensive, though he had to draw near-continuous energy from the reserves in Brisingr. _I was right._ _Durza's overconfidence and temper will be his downfall_. Thus far, he had viewed everything with calm detachment: Durza's jeering taunts, the Urgals encircling them so Eragon didn't try to run, the movement of the sun across the sky… but something finally broke his concentration. The wind shifted, bringing with it the scent of pine needles. Raven hair rippled, and dark eyes: green and bleary, met his brown.

Durza ran his blade along Eragon's, twisting sharply, flinging a flaming Bringer twenty yards away. An urgal had to duck. Durza rapped Eragon sharply on the head with the flat of his blade, causing him to tumble backwards. He felt a foot on his chest and a blade at his throat.

Durza broke into a broad smile. "So you did come to rescue the pretty she-elf?" Eragon's eyes widened. "Garjzla". Eragon lay still in shock. His tumultuous emotions would have rendered him helpless even without the sword at his throat. Black lightning flew from Galbatorix's hand, striking Arya in the chest. He watched, paralyzed by a spell, as the spark in her eyes faded. She crumbled, tumbling from the horse, landing with a crack.

Durza's blade slid, drawing a thin trickle of blood, shocking him back to reality. "…I'll even engrave your gravestone myself. The Great Shadeslayer… slain by a shade." Durza cackled.

How Eragon wished for Saphira to come crashing in through a ceiling or wall, as she had done — amazingly — every time he had faced a shade. Suddenly, Eragon felt a mind reaching out to his own. It was… familiar. _Saphira_? Eragon's back began to vibrate. _She's humming._ He laughed with rapture. She was still strapped into his padded, now enchanted, and heavily warded pack.

Eragon saw that Durza seemed to sense the presence of the foreign mind as well. His eyes opened hungrily, "The egg! It's near. Find it!" he ordered, spinning around as if he expected the egg to have snuck up on him.

"Jierda." Crack. Three of Durza's bony fingers were now at awkward angles. He only laughed. But it was enough.

Eragon jerked right, to keep the falling sword from slashing his neck open. He grabbed it, swung it around, and stabbed faster than the Urgals could see — into the sternum: straight through the heart.

Durza bellowed an unearthly screech, his translucent skin dissolving to reveal the swirling darkness within.

Eragon stood for a moment, watching with revulsion. Then he bolted. He had seen this before, and what mattered now was… "Arya!" he called out. She did not stir.

Then he remembered that he was surrounded by Urgals. They were still there, transfixed: watching the dark shade's skin crumble to dust and the three dark and shifting beings inside him float off into the sky. The urgals stood stock-still. Then, awakening from Durza's spell, they began to move.

Eragon expected them to start fighting each other, as Murtagh had described after the battle Farthen Dûr, or to come at him spears drawn. Instead, they began yelling. They seemed to be arguing, though, in their guttural language it was hard for Eragon to be sure. Two of them started to lower their heads — the sign that an urgal is about to charge. But another urgal bellowed, drawing everyone's attention. His horns were a longer than the rest of the urgals', signifying that he was the eldest. He said something, and suddenly all nine Urgals were staring back at Eragon.

Eragon had to swallow his rage. These were the Urgals who had slaughtered Fäolin and Glenwig. They had captured Arya. But it had not been their choice. They been controlled and manipulated like his half-brother. So, he lifted his chin to them, exposing his throat in a gesture of friendship. The Urgal who had spoken returned the gesture. "His magic is broken. You released us." the Urgal said, deep and grunting, in the common tongue.

"Not just you." said Eragon quietly, "All of your kind, all the Urgralgra who have been fighting for Galbatorix under Durza's control have been released this dawn."

The Urgal made a ruk-ruk sound deep in his throat. Then, he brought both fists to his forehead, and the rest of the urgals followed suit. "Such a deed cannot go unsung. What is your name, elf?" The urgals had not understood Eragon and Durza's banter in the ancient language.

Eragon remembered the words of a werecat Maud, and said with a small smile, "I go by many names, but you may call me Firesword or Shadeslayer."

"Fitting names," he said, glancing over at the still flaming Brisingr. It had caught the surrounding grass on fire, which was slowly inching across the frozen ground toward a cluster of trees.

Following his gaze, Eragon swallowed, looking sheepish. He promptly cut off the flow of energy fueling the sword. Then he said a quick spell that snuffed the fire by pulling away the surrounding oxygen.

"I am Tarok. We are of the Bovek tribe. We will sing your tale at our hearth songs, Firesword. All Urgralgra shall know it. We shall tell of our debt to you for generations to come."

"You honor me with your words, Tarok. Send my greetings to Nar Garzhvog if you chance upon him."

The Urgals stood, looking rather shocked. "I shall Shadeslayer." and after a silent moment, added, "We shall leave you to tend to the your wounded."

Eragon merely nodded, his attention drawn back towards Arya. The Urgals headed towards the lake to fill their water-skins before continuing their journey.

Arya's arms and legs were at odd angles, but she was alive, and her condition was stable. Eragon heard the soft clopping of hooves on hard ground behind him. The shade's bay stallion was making to follow the urgals. "I could use your help, brother horse." said Eragon in the ancient language, remembering how the elves communicated with their noble steeds. "I will not harm you." The horse turned and met his eyes for a moment. Then he cantered off towards the lake.

Eragon sighed. He was not looking forward to carrying Arya all the way to… wherever they were headed.

It took the last of Eragon's reserves to heal Arya's broken bones and torn flesh. She had terrible blisters, and skin rubbed off and oozing in odd places, from being slung over a horse for five days. It seemed that Durza had wasted no time in starting the interrogation process. Her unbroken skin was black and purple. To preserve her modesty, Eragon closed his eyes, and guided his glowing right hand over her many wounds with his mind. Her body was a bright mass, outshined only by the egg on his back. Focusing, he saw that what seemed to be a single mass was actually billions of tiny lights, pulsing, and shining more or less depending on the amount of energy they were consuming. The areas around her wounds were brighter, consuming more energy — attempting to heal themselves. He healed all the wounds he could see, but she did not stir.

He checked for poisons, or a spell that may have been lain on her. She was drugged, but it was only the kind that would dull the mind and prevent the use of magic. It would fade in time. It should not, however, prevent her from waking. He found nothing else. She seemed only to be asleep. The problem was: _Elves don't sleep. She should only be in a trance, easy to wake._ He sighed. _Perhaps it's Durza's spell. Garjzla — light. How do you make someone sleep with light_? He could think of no answer. _Well, if it was still acting upon her, I would be able to tell… and Durza wouldn't kill her. He meant to interrogate her._ He scratched his chin _. I need help._

He did indeed. But where to get it? He needed to speak to Angela or Brom or Oromis, in fact, any elf might know the answer. _Arya_. He lowered his barriers once more, reaching towards her with his mind. The music of her mind: wild and enchanting, streamed through his consciousness. Eka aí fricai. he said quickly, remembering how she had attacked him when he had rescued her the first time. No answer. No attack. _I have slain Durza,_ he continued in the ancient language, _and the egg is safe. But you are injured. I need your help if I am to heal you._

Eragon waited. Still no response. Her mind seemed completely open, yet he could sense no thoughts. _This cannot have been intentional_. When she put herself into a coma on the way to the Varden, her mind was still alert.

Eventually, he withdrew his mind. By the time he was finished, he found it hard to move a finger, and his paltry store of energy was gone. When he opened his eyes, the ground spun in front of him, threatening to disappear. He could draw more energy from the plants and animals around him, but they didn't have much more to give. So, he belted Arya's sword onto his right hip, and slung her quiver and bow onto his back. Gingerly, he lifted Arya. He moved to the nearby grove of trees that had barely escaped being burned to the ground, picking up Brisingr on the way. He unrolled his bedroll, placing Arya upon it. He put an extra blanket on the ground for himself. It wasn't much, but he didn't care. He lay down, wrapping his arms around the egg, picturing the tiny Saphira he knew was inside. _Leave it to Saphira to find a way to save me, even inside her egg._ He stifled a warm laugh, not wanting to wake the sleeping dragon.

Eragon found it impossible to lower his heart rate and slow his breathing enough to enter the trance that was his rest. The adrenalin of battle still rushed through his veins. Saphira and Arya were alive. Alive and right next to him! Nevertheless, he felt farther from them than ever. Saphira in her stone prison and Arya in her unnatural and thoughtless sleep were both unreachable. _Even if I could speak to them, they would not know me._ He thought with despair.

He watched the Sun move across the sky through the oaken branches above. Mount Marna looked purple in the misty air. A light wind blew and seemed to go straight through his cloak. He still needed to figure out where to go. Going to Angela in Teirm was out of the question. Not only would he have to cross the Spine, but Bringing an elf and a dragon egg into such a vast empire city… he might as well just scry the king and tell him where they were.

He could go to the elves in Osilon. Though, considering how hidden their cities were, it may take him months to find it. Arya could die by then. Even if he could find it, what would the elves make of him? An elf-human hybrid wandering into their city with a dragon egg and an unconscious egg courier was certainly curious. Even if they hailed him as a hero, Islandzadí would demand answers. Answers he wasn't keen on giving. If the knowledge that traveling to the past is possible found its way to the wrong person… He shuddered.

That left returning to Brom in Carvahall. The downside, of course, was that the Ra'zac would arrive in Carvahall, and within a few month's time, if he remembered correctly. They would have to come and go without a trace. Still, it seemed like the best option, or, at least, the fastest.

Eragon's dreams finally overtook him as the sun sunk into the lake.


	5. Fricai

Eragon arose with the sun. He spent a moment, eyes closed, enjoying its heat in the still air. The egg in his arms radiated contentment once more. _Still not ready to hatch, huh?_ He got the feeling it was going to be a while yet. Crunch.

Eragon ripped Brisingr from its sheath at his side, somersaulted, and ended in a crouch, facing the source of the sound. "Kvetha, darmthrell," he said with a smile. "Ono sitjaí."

Eragon's new friend looked up from his breakfast of dry and frosty grass, turned his head to the side, and looked at Eragon with one eye. Eragon reached out his hand, and the bay horse pressed his nose into it. He let the horse feel his thankfulness, and quite by accident, his overwhelming hunger. The stocky stallion nudged the grass with his nose as if suggesting Eragon graze with him. Eragon replied laughing, "Thank you, but I don't have much of a taste for grass. Perhaps I can find something by the lake."

Eragon was hesitant to put Arya on the shade's stallion. They didn't have the gentlest reputation, and Eragon didn't doubt that Durza would have mistreated him, making him all the more likely to spook. However, the idea of carrying Arya 15 miles to the lakeside didn't hold much appeal, much less carrying her all the way back to Carvahall. But examining the horse's mind, he seemed gentler than average, not to mention intelligent. "She is ill," he said in the tongue of the elves, "perhaps even close to death. So please be gentle, and stay close."

He ripped a few strips of fabric from one of his blankets before heaving Arya into the horse's saddle. He used the strips of fabric to strap Arya's arms and legs to the saddle, much like he would on Saphira, to keep her from falling off. He took a peek into the saddle bags. There was some dried meat, a whip, and a thin dagger with an ivory hilt, its blade curved and came to a very slight point. Eragon didn't really want to think about its purpose. In the opposite saddle bag, there were six bottles. Two were larger, the size of a hand with his fingers stretched. They were blue, and appeared to be made of ceramic — presumably enchanted. Eragon took a chance and unstoppered one of them. He shrunk back, almost dropping the open bottle. Memories of fire and tears came to mind. He would recognize the scent anywhere: _Seithr Oil_. He quickly put the stopper back in the bottle. Eragon thought it was safe to assume that he shouldn't open the other vials. A few theories came to mind: _Skilna Bragh,_ the strange drug that prevented the use of magic, _and perhaps even Tunivor's Nectar._

As much as Eragon hated to be in proximity to these atrocities, he also couldn't let an innocent suffer because he was so hasty to get rid of them. Anyone who found them could come to harm. Besides, if some contained antidotes, they could be useful. Just for safety, he put them, along with the strange dagger and whip, into one of the saddlebags, and cast a spell that allowed only him to open it without repercussions. He put his belongings in the opposite pack, aside from the egg, which he kept on his back. He hung Arya's sword from the saddle but opted to carry her sung wood bow himself. His own had been left behind in Urû'baen…two years in the future. He kept the meat as well. It would come in handy when Saphira decided it was time to hatch.

Using the bay's reigns as a lead, they set off towards the lake. But he paused, then dashed back to the site of the duel. He picked up the shade's pale sword, which was still covered in his own blood. Ajihad would know it. He had fought against it himself and given it the scratch that ran down its length. It might be useful in proving that he had, indeed, ended the shade. Coming back to the still grazing horse, he lashed it next to Arya's.

When they reached the lakeside, the waters were orange and still misty, reflecting the still rising sun. Leafy green magnolias and leafless maples bounded the shore. The Urgals were no-where in sight, but a smoldering fire suggested they had left before dawn. Eragon spotted some cattails a ways down. He broke off all the shoots he could find, rinsing them in the freezing water, and splitting them with his hunting knife. He ate ravenously once again. They tasted like chestnuts and reminded him of his many excursions with Roran to the Anora River.

He used his mind to search the bank under the freezing water, and found a few strings of groundnuts. "Risa." They floated towards the surface, and into his outstretched hand. When he had had his fill, he gathered more of each to fill his saddlebag while he could. Then they set off at an easy trot.

* * *

The days blurred together, jumbled and unclear. Jogging through the day, resting at night. Arya remained the same: unreachable and unmoving. They kept up a good pace for a horse, incredible even, covering some eight or nine leagues. Though Eragon couldn't help but be frustrated. A trip that had taken him three and a half days was going to take a fortnight. He started lending strength to the horse, allowing them to travel an extra league each day.

What Eragon failed to see, however, was that the horse was handling the journey better than he was. His single-minded determination to be reunited with his loved ones had led him to neglect himself. His left arm still hung limp at his side, somehow forgotten, and a blotchy blue bump protruded from where Durza had struck his brow. He stored any energy he had left at night in Brisingr and didn't eat enough to restore it in the morning. He spent those days watching Arya's Raven hair sway with the wind, and the nights running his thin fingers along the white and winding streaks in Saphira's egg.

It was just before dawn. They had crossed the plains and were camped in the foothills of the Spine near Utgard. They had come across no one. Likely, Eragon thought, because the Urgals had scattered, making travelers wary. Eragon counted the days: five and twenty, since Saphira's egg had appeared in the spine. _We are moving slower than we should be._ He didn't realize, of course, that he was the one slowing them down.

He rose, coming out of the cave where he had made camp, and went to the Anora River to splash his face with water and fill his water skin. He froze. There were tracks by the river. Tracks and large scratches gouged into the bank. They were the marks of a small Dragon taking off. A dragon or… Lethrblaka.

He sprinted, gathering his belongings on the way and stuffed them into them into the saddlebags. He slung his pack onto his back, made sure Saphira was secure and belted Brisingr to his side. He saddled the bay quickly with practiced hands. He had been grazing but stopped. He seemed to notice Eragon's uneasiness. Eragon attempted to sooth him with his mind but only succeeded in allowing the bay to feel his untempered emotions. The bay didn't buck or rear out of fear. Instead, he stood with his head up and his ears forward, alert and ready.

 _The Ra'zac shouldn't be here. Maybe they followed, trying to find who killed the shade. But, if they're tracking us, would they leave such an obvious trail?_

Eragon hoisted Arya's limp form over the stallion. She seemed heavier than before. He stood, panting. The ground appeared to be moving. He strapped her in with fumbling fingers and his teeth since he only had use of one hand. When he stood, his knees gave out from under him, and the world went momentarily black. _We need to keep moving._ He felt something warm trickle down his arm. Pain shot up into his shoulder. He tried to reach for magic to heal it, but he just didn't have the energy. _We need help_.

Desperately, he reached out with his mind. He felt Arya, mind open and empty, the distant touch that was the infant Saphira, and… _the horse._ He remembered the elven steeds, and their ability to find people and places. This horse hadn't been bred or trained to do such things, but it seemed to have a decent grasp of what was going on around it. Besides, he needed to do something, and he knew he was fading fast.

Eragon groped his way to the waiting stallion, slinging himself upwards while he made contact with its consciousness. He tried to stay calm and focused on the path they would need to travel. It was rather difficult, as Eragon had only traveled out of Carvahall, never back to it. He shared his memories of the landmarks backward: the spires of Utgard, a seldom used shallow place in the Anora River that was easy to wade through, a distant view of Therinsford. He shared not only the sights but the smells and sounds, mimicking the way the dragons communicated. His thoughts were becoming foggier like he was trudging through a bog. He pressed onwards, sharing a round-about path to Brom's, that would miss most of the village. He impressed upon the horse, before unconsciousness overcame him, the overwhelming need to remain unseen.

* * *

 **Translations**

Kvetha, darmthrell : Greetings, brother

Ono sitjaí : You stayed


	6. Smoke

Brom was enjoying a good smoke. He had gotten some of the good tobacco from the traders. It was from Kuasta, and the smell reminded him of his grandfather sitting on the front porch long ago. _Ah, it's good to have some peace._

He had spent the better part of the day telling dragon lore. Eleven-year-old Nolfavrell had come by with a few questions about dragons, his curiosity sparked by Brom's tale the night the traders came. And once word got out that he was telling stories, suddenly every child in the village was at his doorstep. _I suppose this is to be expected. I did introduce myself as a bard._ But part of him was glad. If the riders didn't live on, at least their tales would.

He couldn't help, however, but have a heavy heart. Eragon had never returned from his hunting trip. Roran had indeed started a search party. He, Albriech, and Baldor had spent a full week searching the woods. They had found boot prints and deer tracks, and old campsites, but had eventually lost the trail. They wandered the woods for days but came up with nothing.

Brom had not been satisfied. He had followed the boys' footprints until they had split off in different directions to search the wood. Here, he noticed something the others had not. Another set of footprints. They were lighter, barely leaving an indent. But they dug in at the ball of the foot. Usually, elves' light steps and cloth boots did not leave prints that could be easily tracked with the naked human eye, but this one had been running. And by the looks of it, very fast.

He had followed the trail for another day. It had lead him to another of Eragon's camp sights. But the footprints lead on, ignoring it altogether. He followed suit, and found himself in a large circular clearing of dirt and charred trees. The prints ended here. The elf who called himself Firesword must have ended his sprint and begun a gentler pace. Brom knew what left a clearing like this. Someone had transported something. From the looks of it, it had been at least a fortnight. Had someone transported Eragon? Brom had spent another full day searching. Nothing.

Clop, clop. He was torn from his brooding thoughts. Creeeeeeeak. His head snapped towards the door. Crash! He was on his feet, the door flung wide open.

Standing before him was a horse. It was a deep reddish brown, and it's back hoof was stuck in the floor of Brom's porch.

His frown lessened. His eyebrows raised. He began a hearty and uncontrollable chuckle.

That is, until he noticed that the two lumps on its back were hooded riders: slumped over, unconscious. The horse had been staring at him curiously but turned its attention to getting its hoof out of the porch. It reared, sending one of his riders tumbling to the ground head first. With a show of agility, Brom caught the rider midair. He was surprisingly light. The fall had knocked his hood back, revealing pointed ears and a nasty swollen bruise. "Firesword. Unconscious again I see. At least there's not a sword in your gut this time."

Brom carried Eragon through his front door, laying him on the nearby table. Creak. Brom looked over his shoulder. The horse was attempting to follow. _This horse,_ Brom pondered, _carried them here while they were unconscious. Perhaps he's been trained like an elven steed._

"Gánga aptr."

The horse merely stared at him, looking determined. Brom sighed, then reached out his hand, which the horse met with his muzzle, sniffing. After that, he allowed Brom to remove the other rider. Brom undid the knots quickly, for they were the same ones used on a dragon's saddle in the absence of buckles.

Brom was surprised to find that the second rider was also an elf he recognized. It had nearly been sixteen years since he had last seen Arya, though she looked the same as he remembered. He laid her down on his bed. They were both unconscious, but their conditions seemed stable.

The horse watched through the door. Brom removed the saddlebags and the weapons hanging from his sides and picketed him to the front porch's post.

After a quick inspection of his patients, Brom decided to tend to Firesword first. As he tended to his arm and his many bumps and bruises, he couldn't help but wonder. When he had first fallen from the sky with a rider's sword at his hip, he had thought the elf to be a rider. But try as he might, his mind could not make contact with a dragon. He had even rubbed Firesword's hands with wine and checked for enchantments. Alas, he did not bear the gedwëy ignasia. _He did, however, wear a ring bearing the yawë. Perhaps he is one of her guards._ It would explain his connection to Arya Dröttningu. Not to mention the Dwarven gifts. He could not, however, make any sense of Islingr, or how Firesword would have gotten from Urû'baen to Carvahall.

Brom finished tending to the wounds that he could see, but Firesword remained unconscious. He didn't know much about elven physiology, but he figured a bump on the head that hard could do some damage to any race. He opened Firesword's eyelid with his left hand. "Garjzla" His right hand glowed bright, eliminating all shadow. "Hmph." Eragon's pupils were unresponsive. "Concussion. Waíse heill won't be enough for this one. Brains are tricky business."

It had been over a century since Brom had memorized healing scrolls in Ileria. So, for safety's sake, he decided to consult the source. He moved aside an intricate but well-worn rug and pulled up a trap door. Here were a few dozen scrolls he had taken with him when he had fled to Du Weldenvarden with Oromis. Outside of what Galbatorix had taken for himself, these scrolls were perhaps all that was left of the rider's library. After reviewing it a few times, he began to chant. It took a full two minutes, and when he released the magic, he started swaying. He was utterly exhausted. _I hope Arya's condition is not as severe. She may have to wait until tomorrow either ways._ He looked Eragon over one last time one last time, determining that he would wake when he was ready.

He sidled over to his bed, where Arya lay. She seemed completely healthy. Yet, when he tried to rouse her, she refused to wake. He examined her eyes as he had with Eragon. _Unresponsive_. He reached out with his mind to determine if she had a concussion, but her mind seemed completely healthy. _Her mind… Perhaps I could rouse her by touching her mind_. He was wary of touching an elf's consciousness uninvited. They were as strong of mind as they were of body, putting even a human rider at risk. But he could think of no better alternative. He closed his eyes and sent a tendril of thought her way. She was completely unguarded, and the music of her mind engulfed him, wild and strange, yet no thoughts drifted through it. It was highly unusual for an elf's mind to be unguarded. It was one of their first lessons as a child. It was even more unusual for an elf's mind to be empty. He pondered her condition for a full hour while he made himself some stew.

His bowl was halfway empty when he thought, _Arya's state is alarming for an elf, but would be considered normal for a human. It's as if she's merely in a deep sleep…_ The spoon dropped from his hand. It was so blasted simple! With a single word and a gentle blue glow from his palm, her eyes fluttered open.

She sat up quickly, her eyes darting frantically. When their eyes met, Brom brought his fingers to his lips. "Atra esterní ono thelduin, Arya Dröttningu."

"Atra du evarínya ono varda, Brom-elda."

 _Brom-elda. Humph. I am getting old._ Though in truth, the title pleased him.

"Wh-where am I?" Her voice sounded groggy.

Brom gave her a half smile. "My home, in Carvahall."

Her eyes showed no sense of recognition.

Brom sighed. "We are in Palancar Valley, in the Northern part of the Spine. I found you on my porch — unconscious — and tied onto a dark brown horse."

Arya's eyes grew wide. "The…the shade brought me here?"

Brom cocked an eyebrow. _A shade? Sleep does not have a good effect on elves._ "Not to my knowledge. Another elf was with you."

Arya's eyes landed on the table where Eragon lay, still unmoving. Her eyes flitted over him.

"Do you know him?"

"No. Well, perhaps. My recent memories are rather… unreliable. Do you know of him?"

"We met briefly. Calls himself Firesword. He showed up here unconscious a month ago in dwarven armor with Vrael's sword through his chest. Claimed Galbatorix put it there himself. I thought he might be one of your guards."

Arya only stared for a moment. "No. My guards…" She paused, choking on the words."My guards have passed into the void. They were slain by a band of Urgals lead by…" She closed her eyes. "the shade, Durza. I sent the egg to you before being captured. He tortured me for the location of Ellesméra but received nothing for his efforts. The last thing I remember was Durza dueling…" She glanced at Eragon. Her eyes returned to Brom's. She asked quietly, "Is the egg safe?"

His frown deepened, but his voice held no emotion. "I did not receive it." An image of a circle of burned and flattened grass came to mind, with the footprints of an elf nearby. "But I have reason to believe that he did." He said, looking back towards the table.

Arya's eyes widened, and her lips parted as if she were about to speak, but no sound came. For she was interrupted by a loud squeak.

At the sound, Brom's mouth opened as well. He had heard that sound before. It had been over a century, but it was a sound he would not forget for as long as he lived.

Squeak.

Brom jumped at the sound but was unable to pinpoint the direction.

Arya was still sitting on the end of the bed. "What is it?" She asked, her voice almost a whisper. She was staring at the corner of the room.

Brom followed her eyes and walked to the corner. Another squeak sounded, even louder than the last. He examined the array of bags before him, then opened the pack he had taken off Eragon's back. Inside, wrapped in blankets, was an egg: large, polished, and sapphire blue.

"I found it." He said simply, walking back to the bed. He removed it from its padding and set it on his pillow.

They stared silently for a moment. The egg didn't make another sound.

"It hasn't made a sound for fifteen years," she said. She looked enthralled, and a tad uncertain. "She's blocking me from her mind. Is she… hatching?"

"Aye. Her rider is near." So they sat, watching it. The only sound was the winter wind rattling the shutters.

 _The egg is hatching._ Brom thought, barely able to believe it. He had waited so long. He looked over at Arya. Would it hatch for her? _No. It would not have waited twenty years._ That leaves… His eyes drifted back towards the table. _And he's already made himself a rider's blade._

He heard a rustling sound.

He turned back to see that the egg was rocking. It rolled off the pillow, and across the bed, bumping Arya's leg.

She recoiled, moving to stand next to Brom.

A small crack appeared in the egg, then another, accompanied by even more violent rocking and squeaking.

It turned over again, then fell off the bed and broke in two.

A small form — blue, angular, and slightly wet — uncurled itself. Its eyes blinked, adjusting to the firelight. It's triangular head snaked round to examine itself. It seemed pleased. It licked one of the white spikes that ran down its back to the tip of its tale. It made a small wheezing sound, then shook like a dog that just stepped out of the rain, unfurling its wings in the process.

Some of the fluid made it's way to Brom's boot. He couldn't help but smile. _A dragon. A free dragon will fly once more._

It flapped its wings a few times, testing them out. Done examining itself, it looked around the room. It paused when it saw two pairs of legs, and followed them up. The small blue dragon met Brom's eyes, then Arya's; then it let loose a high pitched squeal, more akin to a moan. They weren't the ones it was looking for.

She looked around a bit more, then saw an arm hanging limply from the table. She made her way towards it, bumping into a chair leg on the way.

Arya cringed. Brom stifled a laugh.

Undeterred, she huffed, dark smoke curling from her nostrils. Then she backed onto her haunches, giving a mighty leap and a single flap. She landed shakily on the chair, digging her claws deep into an ornate carving.

It was Brom's turn to cringe.

The dragon stuck out its tongue, sniffing the hand before it. She gave a whining cry. Firesword did not answer. Demanding attention, she butted her nose against his palm.


	7. Explanations

Pain. Icy, liquid pain traveled up his arm, spreading through his body. The Ra'zac. _They…ugh… must have gotten to us. What is this… Seithr Oil_? Eragon attempted to open his eyes. He could not. His throat burned from silent screaming. _Wait, Seithr Oil burns_ … If he could have moved, he would have smiled. He knew what caused chilling pain like this, and the rewards well outweighed the momentary discomfort. _Why… does this have to hurt… more than a sword to the chest_? His body convulsed, and he felt like his veins were going to burst.

Eventually, the ice receded, and he could feel the warmth of a nearby fire. He still couldn't stop shivering. He opened his eyes. They rested on a blue blur, which slowly came into focus. It glistened. A rapturous grin spread across his face. He tried to reach out and touch her, but his arm was paralyzed, and his whole body still shaking. He looked at his hand just in time to see the gedwëy ignasia form once more, glowing blue and itching terribly. He smiled so much it hurt.

"Is he alright?", asked a quiet voice in the ancient language.

"He will be," replied another, this one rather gruff. "He just endured what is probably the worst pain he has ever felt."

"Actually," said Eragon with a hint of a smile, "I've felt worse." Seeing Arya alive and well made his heart leap. He wanted nothing more than to hold her in his arms. _Considering that she has never met me before, that might not be the best way to start a relationship_. Instead, he turned to Arya, raising his fingers to his lips, saying, "Atra esterní ono thelduin,"

She tore her eyes from Saphira for a moment. Her face showed a strange mix of something like awe and… _pity_? Her unusual show of emotion was quickly replaced by her usual calm and cool demeanor. "Atra du evarínya ono varda. We have waited long for you, Shur'tugal," she continued in the ancient language. Eragon nodded, still beaming stupidly.

Saphira nudged him on the leg. Having regained some feeling in his fingers, he stroked her in her favorite spot under the jaw. He reached out with his mind and enveloped hers in all the joy and comfort her presence brought him. She responded with contentment and an overwhelming feeling of hunger. He laughed.

Turning to Brom, he repeated the traditional elven greeting. He wasn't ready to tell his tale just yet. There would be many questions, and he wasn't ready for the rush of emotions the answers would bring.

Brom responded with the appropriate phrase. Eragon ended the exchange with the words, "Un atra mor'ranr lífa unin hjarta onr, Ebrithil. I look forward to studying under you."

Brom just grunted. If that leaves him speechless, Saphira, what will he do when I tell him I'm his son? Again, Saphira's response was hunger.

"It appears that she's hungry."

That got Brom talking. "Ah. That may be a problem. I don't have any meat at the moment, and it's the middle of the night. And I doubt either of you are going to start hunting anytime soon."

"Actually, there is some dried meat in the saddlebags," Eragon replied.

Brom gave him a curious look, then proceeded towards the saddlebags.

 _What's odd about… oh, right. They think I'm an elf_. Eragon glanced towards Arya. Her gaze held something akin to horror. "It's not mine," he said, throwing up his hands, "it belonged to the horse's previous owner. Not that one!" Brom froze, his hands hovering above a saddlebag. "You don't want to open that one."

"If you are going to be my student," Brom growled, "I'm going to need some answers. Starting with, where did this horse come from?" Brom's voice grew uncomfortably loud.

Saphira leapt off the chair, landing in front of Eragon with wings spread wide and neck arched. Her tail flicked back and forth, and she attempted to growl. It came out as more of a coughing hiss. _Thank you for protecting me Saphira, but the last thing I need right now is my tiny dragon attacking my father_. Confusion emanated from their link. He sighed. He had forgotten she didn't understand words. Instead, he sent her some of his memories. He showed her the day they had swum in Leona Lake together. Her anger and confusion gave way to curiosity, as she felt the air give way to cooling water.

"The horse came of its own accord after I ah, killed his owner." Eragon said.

"You killed a human?"

"He killed a shade." said Arya, her voice tinged with new-found admiration.

"Is this true?"

"It is." Eragon replied simply. "The sword that was tied to the saddle was his. Ajihad would recognize it. He's the one who scratched the blade."

"And you were going to feed your dragon meat that belonged to a shade?" Brom questioned, his voice calmed dangerously.

That was not the response Eragon had been expecting. "I checked it for poisons with a dozen different spells." he protested.

Brom only sighed. "What's in the bag Firesword?"

The fire gave an especially loud crackle as a log fell. "Poison." Eragon answered sheepishly.

Brom shook his head, then looked Eragon in the eye. "There's a reason we're born with brains in our heads, not rocks."

It wasn't the first time Brom had said that, but Eragon wasn't a fifteen-year-old farm boy anymore. He couldn't help but feel a twinge of anger. It seeped through the link to Saphira, who had moved to Eragon's shoulder. She gave a proper hiss this time, and her talons dug into Eragon's skin. "Aaah!", he cried, accompanied by a shrill shriek from Saphira.

Brom looked over with interest. "You're already feeling each other's pain?" Eragon sent him a glare, which he promptly ignored. "I've never heard of that occurring this early. It usually takes quite a while for a rider to become accustomed to sharing his mind. You are already acting as one." He gazed at Eragon. He seemed to be trying to piece together the situation, and he didn't appear to be succeeding. "Who are you, Firesword? You seem familiar. You said you were from Ellesméra. I was there about twenty years ago. Perhaps we met."

Eragon gave a pained smile. "Aye, Brom-elda. We have met before. And I will tell you my story in full. But let us not remain here. I will tell you while we travel."

At the mention of leaving Carvahall, Brom's face sobered. In fact, the man appeared to be on the verge of tears. _What has him so down, Saphira? He just witnessed a dragon hatching, and he gets to train a new Rider. A rider who has already slain a shade. Last time he all but demanded to come with me… to come with Eragon_. Eragon didn't receive hunger as an answer. Instead, he received… satisfaction? Looking down, he realized that Saphira wasn't next to him anymore. Arya was sitting in a high-backed chair to the side of the room, wearing a mask of indifference, as she had throughout most of the conversation. Eragon closed his eyes, and through the crackling fire and battering shutters, he heard a faint snarl. He looked up towards the source. Saphira was in the rafters. She had a strip of slimy fabric in her mouth, smoking slightly. Her ice blue eyes met his. She cocked her head slightly. He followed her trail down the wall and cringed. There were claw marks all down the wall, where she had climbed, and a curtain was in shreds.

Brom and Arya followed his gaze. Arya's hand flew up to cover her mouth in a sore attempt at hiding her laughter. "I liked those curtains." Brom said with a half smile. "Though I suppose I won't have a use for them much longer." His frown returned as he turned back to Eragon and said, "It's safer to talk here. There's always the chance of being overhead on the road."

 _Why does that not sound right? Are we safe here_? A memory surfaced. Eragon was standing on the bank of the Anora River, looking at a set of tracks. "We aren't safe here. The Ra'zac are coming."

"You only saw fit to tell us this now?" Arya cried from the corner, her body tense.

"I only just remembered. My memories of the last month are a bit of a blur." Eragon replied.

"It's not surprising. You had quite a concussion." said Brom. "It's a miracle that you made it here at all. That said, are you certain the Ra'zac are coming?"

"Aye. I saw their tracks by the bank of the Anora. Deep claw marks in the earth. Only Dragons, Lethrblaka, and Fanghur leave tracks like that when they take off. As they were much too small to be Shruikan, and we're not anywhere near the Beors, they would have to be the Ra'zac's flying mounts. Though I don't see how they knew where we were headed."

"Sloan." Brom growled. "A villager saw you leaving my house, running almost faster than he could see. News like that spreads quickly when the traders come to town, even when no one really believes it. And the Ra'zac, flying? We need to leave. Chances are they'll be here in the morning if they start questioning people."

"After you just healed us, Brom-elda? None of us are in fit condition to travel." added Arya.

Eragon looked at Saphira, who had glided down awkwardly from the rafters and now seemed to be taste testing his hair. "I know a place we can rest. A clearing in the woods not too far from here, but secluded and unknown to the villagers." He glanced at his father, who looked as if he were about to run. He knew that look. It was the feeling he had when he knew Saphira and Arya were in danger, and he was the only one who could save them. Gently, he added, "Your son is alive and well, Brom-elda. You will soon see him again." A second later, there was a sword at Eragon's throat.

"What did you do with him?" Brom asked, his voice surprisingly calm.

For a moment, Eragon considered laying out the entire story then and there, but he refrained. They needed to move. _Besides, even if I told my story in the ancient language, they'd likely think me a madman before they'd believe me. I need to find a way to prove it to them_. Instead, he said "I did not do anything to him. He left on his own accord. I will answer any questions you or Arya may have tomorrow after we leave Carvahall."

He felt the sword fall from his throat. Brom and Arya were both staring at him. Saphira had stopped chewing for the moment and was staring at him too. _What…oh_. He had been speaking in the ancient language. If he left Carvahall tomorrow, he would have to answer any question Brom or Arya threw at him.

Brom didn't give him much time to think, however, and immediately laid out a plan. No one liked it. But there were only a few hours left before dawn, and they could think of nothing better.

Brom was to spend the night gathering supplies for the journey: food, bedding, clothes, and the like. Arya had only her weapons, and anything Eragon had taken on his rescue mission had long since worn out.

Arya and Eragon's mission was far less enjoyable. If a man named Brom suddenly disappeared after an 'unnatural being' was seen leaving his house, the Ra'zac would surely go after him. The simplest plan they could think of was to fake Brom's death.

They snuck into the graveyard silently, too weary to remain invisible, especially considering what they were about to do. They removed a mound of bare earth from the ground. No grass had yet covered it, as it had only been placed there the week before. A bare wooden casket was revealed. Eragon removed the corpse and trudged back to the house, the body floating soundlessly behind him. The magic took it's toll, but no more than if he had slung it over his shoulder. And this way he didn't have to touch it. Saphira followed, occasionally weaving between his legs. He didn't trust her not to tear Brom's house to pieces if he left her there alone. As it was, he could feel her terrible hunger, and she seemed to think the corpse would make a fine snack. Eragon tried not to vomit.

Having sealed the casket and covered the ground without a trace, Arya soon caught up with them. He caught her eyeing him as if he were a riddle that she didn't anticipate liking the answer to. When they returned the house, Arya went inside and began the grim work of changing the appearance of the dead man to resemble Brom.

Eragon made a harness from some spare bits of leather, and tied Saphira to a chair, trying to make her understand the overwhelming need to remain quiet. Then he said the words required to open the saddlebag containing the poisons.

By the time Brom returned, they were ready. A seemingly dead Brom lay slumped in a chair; skin charred with Seithr Oil. Eragon had also poured it on a nearby scroll. Hopefully, the Ra'zac would assume that the lone running creature had been an assassin long since gone.

After they had removed everything that would be of value to them on their journey, and Saphira was safely in Eragon's arms, Brom dropped his pipe. The clay shattered as it hit the table, setting it aflame. "Not letting the Empire get anything useful out of me." he said. "Brisingr." The flames jumped higher, spreading to the claw-marked chair. They group headed off silently on a winding trail, a horse trailing behind them.


	8. Truth

The troop trekked silently along the edge of the Spine. Eragon needed a plan. In less than an hour, the sun would rise over the mountains, and his oath would begin. Any questions posed to him, he would have to answer. Unless, of course, he chose to stay in Carvahall and watch his hatchling dragon be eaten by the Ra'zac. _No, not an option._ None of them were in any condition to fight the Ra'zac and the Lethrblaka.

The problem also wasn't telling Brom and Arya. He wanted to tell them everything — he needed their guidance. The problem was getting them to believe him. Eragon looked down at Saphira. She seemed to have given up her search for food temporarily and had fallen into a restless sleep in his arms.

He sighed. The birds had begun their song. _I have half an hour at most… I need to do something._

Eragon drew a large breath. "Brom, Arya… When the sun rises, I will be under oath to answer any questions you ask of me. Understand that I do not resent this. However, I would ask something of both of you."

Brom and Arya both turned an ear towards Eragon, but no one spoke.

"Right. My story — is a long one." Eragon continued, "and not an easy one for me to tell. Thus, I would ask that you allow me to tell my story before you start asking me questions."

The first rays broke over the mountains, and the only response was a whinny from the horse.

 _This is not going well._ Eragon thought. _Too late._ The sun had risen.

"We shall see." Brom finally replied, and Eragon didn't have to look at his father to tell that he was grimacing.

Eragon took the lead, once again taking Brom down a winding trail to the clearing he had found when he first moved out to his farm. Arya took the rear, casting spells to conceal their tracks, scent, and any trace of magic. Hopefully, it would be enough to confuse the Ra'zac.

They set down their packs, and the horse started to graze. Eragon set Saphira down in the soft grass. She gave a snort but did not stir. Brom and Arya watched Eragon's every move. It was time.

Eragon raised his hand to his lips and leaned close to Brom's ear. He whispered seven words so low that even Arya couldn't overhear. Brom stood unmoving. The corner of his mouth twitched. Not asking questions was obviously as difficult for Brom as it would have been for Eragon.

"You told me those words…" Eragon began in the ancient language. "months from now, on your deathbed. When you saved me from a poison dagger thrown by the Ra'zac."

The gray in the sky gave way to orange and yellow. A nearby rooster made his presence known. And still Brom was silent.

"Are you claiming to have seen the future?" Arya asked.

He opened his mouth to deny it, but the ancient language wouldn't allow him to continue. He began again. "I have had the occasional dream that turned out to be a premonition. But in this case, no. I am claiming to have lived the future." Eragon picked up a blade of grass and began to twist it between his fingers. "I have lived the next two years. I have trained as a dragon rider under Brom, Glaedr, and Oromis. I have watched the races of Alagaësia: the Varden, Elves, Dwarves, Dragons — even the were-cats and Urgals — band together to fight back against the mad king. I have led them into battle at Urû'baen. And I have seen them all defeated."

"Who are you?" Brom asked once more.

"I…" Eragon swallowed. "I am Eragon."

If Brom had been speechless before, now he was utterly shocked. "Eragon?" he whispered. His brow furrowed. "What is your brother's name?" he asked.

"Brother? I.. have a foster brother and cousin, Roran Garrowson. And I have a half-brother: Murtagh."

"Who healed your mother of the fever when you were six?"

"Mother? My… mother died before I was a year old. But, my foster mother, my aunt Marion died of the fever when I was six. Gertrude attempted to heal her."

Meanwhile, Brom continued to search Eragon's face, perhaps for a lie, or perhaps to try and find something familiar to grasp onto. "You look… different." He said. "How?"

"A gift from the dragons."

Brom nodded slowly, attempting to digest what was going on.

Regardless of how much she respected Brom, Arya was done with cryptic answers. "Who is Eragon?" she asked.

Eragon looked Brom in the eye. "I am Eragon Shadeslayer. Rider of the dragon Saphira. Bane of the Ra'zac, and son of Brom."

Brom's eyes began to flood though he still looked a bit wary of his son. A son he hadn't even recognized.

"Is he… mad?" Arya asked the still motionless Brom.

Brom broke the stillness with a humorless laugh. "To go after a shade on his own… certainly. Regardless, I believe what he says to be true."

"But you are-" Arya began, turning towards Eragon.

"The son of Brom and Selena," Eragon interjected. "Both humans. Which, as you can imagine, is why my father didn't recognize me." Eragon paused. Regardless of circumstances, he still relished being able to call Brom his father, especially sitting right in front of him. "I was… changed."

"By the dragons." Arya continued, receiving a nod in response.

"Saphira?" Brom asked, his voice cracking a bit. The blue dragon was still snoozing and had curled her tail loosely around Eragon's ankle.

"She chose the name before either of us knew it's origin."

A streak of purple entered the dancing colors of the horizon. A robin joined the morning song. The bay horse took a step forward, breaking the stillness with a loud crack from the frozen ground.

"You had a story to tell?" Brom asked.

"Aye." Eragon said. He gave a brief history of his life in Carvahall for Arya's sake, and how he had raised Saphira in the Spine. He told of Garrow's death, his training, and his travels with Brom in the Empire, culminating in Brom's burial and Arya's rescue. He had told his story before, but never like this. He spared no detail. Anything could be the key to defeating Galbatorix. After choking on tears, he eventually emulated the emotionless tone he had heard from Arya whenever she spoke of her torture, and simply laid out the facts. He told of Murtagh, the Varden, and Farthen Dûr. He described the dark spirits that escaped a dying shade, and the tunnels that cut through the Beors. He told of his training in Ellesméra, the agony of Durza's curse, and his healing at the Agaetí Bloodhren. He told of the many battles that followed and the discovery of the Eldunarí. By the time he reached the Final Battle at Urû'baen, the sun had reached its peak, and he had run out of tears. He stroked Saphira's scales as he told of the deaths of Roran, Islandzadí, Orik, Arya, and his own dragon as if they were merely a legend. The numbness finally died away as he told of his most recent adventure, and he finally scanned his audience to see their reaction.

After a moment, Brom stepped forward. He grasped Eragon's arms in a warrior's embrace. "My son…" he croaked, "You came closer to defeating Galbatorix than the entire order before you. And all of us — everyone who died, we're here, alive. And this time, we have an advantage. We'll defeat the Empire yet."

At this, Eragon pulled his father into a tight embrace. Apparently he hadn't run out of tears.

Arya watched silently, as she had since Eragon had begun. To a bystander, she appeared as a statue. But Eragon knew her as well as anyone, and as the hours had passed, he had seen the wheels turning. She had moved past disbelief, into astonishment, admiration, and eventually horror. After the family reunion, she finally spoke. "I thank you, Eragon Shur'tugal for what you have done for all of Alagaësia. As well as for saving me from torture under Durza… twice. The debt will not be forgotten. Though I must ask. What madness overcame you that you would face Durza alone? You risked all of Alagaësia!"

"What madness?" Brom replied. "The madness of watching half your soul die. Most riders die with their dragons. But my son slew a shade: Galbatorix's most trusted servant. And in doing so, he saved his dragon, the first elf captured in a century, and the entire nation of Urgals. Galbatorix will have a hard time razing Farthen Dûr now."

Eragon definitely hadn't run out of tears.

Arya bowed her head. "My apologies Shur'tugals."

"She has a point though." Eragon said, thinking the situation through with a clear mind for the first time. "The battle of Farthen Dûr is what brought all the races together. Without it… I don't know."

No one spoke.

Eragon felt something pull at his ankle. The tips of Saphira's wings were twitching, and her tail had tightened it's hold on him. Eragon reached out with his mind and saw a squirrel. Saphira must have seen one in the woods, and was hunting it in her dreams. He couldn't help but smile. He was interrupted by a loud growl. _Wait, Saphira shouldn't be able to growl yet… Oh._ It was his own stomach. He didn't have to say anything. Brom was already rummaging through the saddle bags. He passed a large helping of bread and cheese to Eragon and Arya, as well as some dried meat for Saphira.

Saphira didn't need any prompting either. The smell roused her as soon as the bag was opened. She gulped up the meat as fast as Eragon could hand it to her. Arya turned away, uncomfortable at the sight.

When Saphira had finished, she took to exploring the clearing. Eragon attempted to tell her to stay put, and she seemed to understand… as far as he could tell.

Arya took a drink from the waterskin. "Why was I chosen to fight Galbatorix? There are elves far more skilled than I in battle."

"Islanzadí asked you the same question."

Arya raised an eyebrow.

"As the elven ambassador, you were on the front lines. You fought against Galbatorix all your life, and by the final battle, you were as prepared as anyone. Besides, there is no one I would rather have at my side." Immediately Eragon knew he had said too much, and desperately tried not to cringe.

While Arya's face remained stoic, the tips of her ears betrayed her, flushing rose.

"It's not… I was the Varden's rider, and you were the ambassador. We ended up travelling together quite a bit, and fighting together. I mean, we became friends, you became a friend, and it was only thanks to you that I killed Durza the first time."

Saphira snapped her diminutive jaws.

"…And Saphira…you and Saphira." Eragon belatedly realized that he was rambling dangerously.

Arya watched as Saphira decided to try some of the grass that the horse had been eating. Only to regurgitate it in a smoking, slime-covered heap. "And being your friend qualified me to storm Galbatorix's citadel?"

Eragon took a break from his third helping of bread and gave a small smile. "As I relayed earlier, the eleven elves Islanzadí sent to guard me came as well. Though, Galbatorix only allowed us to enter his throne room. He seemed to find you quite infuriating." His smiled widened as Saphira wound her way back to him and curled up in his lap.

"This… friendship, what exactly —"

"Arya." called a gruff voice. "Eragon has been exceedingly forthcoming thus far. Do you not think that he might have good reason to withhold some information? Do you believe after what he has done he would hide something that could be useful against Galbatorix?"

Arya's slanted eyebrows had been slowly inching together throughout the conversation. But at this, they made a prominent V. "My understanding is that we are analyzing what happened the first time, so that we do not discard this second chance, and die painfully. If we don't have all the information, how can we make informed decisions? Eragon, what information have you been witholding?"

Eragon huffed. In the winter air, he could see his steamy breath, and it reminded him of the smoke that sometimes curled from Saphira's nostrils when she was annoyed with him. "In the last few months before the final battle we… exchanged true names." Another burst of steam escaped his nostrils, and though he put up a fight, his his tongue betrayed him, "...and I'm in love with you."

In a voice that was calm, and barely audible she asked, "And when were you going to tell me this?"

"I was not planning to. I-" He stopped mid-sentence. She was gone.

"Well." Brom was sitting on a fallen log at the edge of the clearing with his arms folded across his chest. "It seems that you've inherited my luck with women. Sorry about that."


	9. Oaths

Arya is not an easy elf to find in a pine forest. Her light steps and wild thoughts blended with the life thrumming in the trees. After an hour of fruitless searching, Eragon finally realized where he should have been looking all along — up.

He found her in a tall pine, only a hundred yards from where he had begun. Finding her, however, gave him no insight into how to handle the situation. _What if she's taking the time to morn Faölin?_ Suddenly, following her seemed an ill-conceived idea. _We only just met, and she is already angry with me. I need to make amends_. Though he doubted that she would welcome his company while she was up there… _sulking? No._ There was danger afoot. She always put aside her emotions to do her duty: protecting Saphira. _Where is Saphira?_

He dashed back to the clearing. _Horse, exasperated father, no Saphira_. _Apparently day-old dragons don't understand commands. Not that grown dragons follow commands._ He reached out with his mind. She was above him. He looked up, half expecting her to be soaring overhead. Eragon couldn't help but smile at the sight that met his eyes.

The ever-vigilant elf was perched high in the tree with a blue-glittering mass in her arms.

Approaching the tree, he gave a running leap, gripping the lowest branch fifteen feet overhead. He hung there for a moment, not sure how to continue. The tree had grown tilted east, with all it's branches on the west side. He heard a snort from below. Brom was watching from his log.

Eragon pulled up with his arms, using his legs to walk up the tree trunk, hook them over the branch and eventually sit on top of it. He continued in this manner, jumping from branch to branch until he gingerly sat a few feet from Arya, his legs scraped.

She continued to gaze at the now-smoldering house a few leagues away.

They sat for a long time. An hour — or four — Eragon couldn't tell, watching Brom's house burn. He glanced over at Arya occasionally but did nothing further to draw her attention. She knew where he was. Her breath was barely audible, and Eragon began to wonder if she had slipped into her waking dreams.

Hgggh. Arya grunted as talons raked her leather-covered thigh.

Saphira's gaze was fixed on the horizon. Two large black birds were circling. Large black birds with… _four legs?_ _Lethrblaka_.

Saphira's message wasn't lost on Arya. With the small dragon in her right arm, she leapt over Eragon, swung around the tree, and ran a hundred feet straight down the sloped trunk full speed. She continued all the way into the clearing, then turned and looked at him expectantly.

 _Ah_. Eragon thought. _Well, I must get down somehow._ He swung around the trunk, misjudging the distance. He landed nearly backwards and slid halfway down the tree — hugging the trunk with his left arm, eventually loosing footing altogether.

"Letta." He caught himself just before he hit the ground. _Thwump_. I should work on my landings.

Dashing back over to the clearing, he joined Arya in setting spells to attempt to hide them from the Lethrblaka. Though, he doubted they would help. _Then again — the Ra'zac are human's worst enemy — not the elves'_. Perhaps Arya's spells would hold. Once they finished their song, they sat down, exhausted once again.

"Well", said Brom, "What now"?

 _What now indeed?_

Arya broke the tension. "Eragon is to come to Ellesméra for training."

"After I train with Brom." Eragon countered.

Brom grunted, "A nice sentiment. But as you may recall, you have already progressed further in training than I could have taken you in the first place.

"In theory, yes. I can fight with a sword, bow, magic, and my mind. I can heal battle wounds, lead armies, and fight on dragon back. I am a warrior. But I am little else.

"We are headed into war," Arya added quietly.

"Aye. But riders are meant to be more than warriors," Brom countered. "They are meant to be scholars, healers, teachers, and above all: peacemakers. I, however, am not the man to teach you these things. He folded his hands and set them on his knees. "I have been at war for far too long."

"Regardless," Brom interjected the silence he had caused, "We needn't decide now. We need rest, and the Ra'zac have the advantage at night. We leave at daybreak."

No one argued.

* * *

It was Brom's watch, and the sun had dropped into the forest. It would be dusk within the hour. Brom was pacing. He looked over at his companions. They were spent. Though it was still daylight, they had fallen asleep as soon as they had hit the ground. At least, Saphira and Arya looked to be asleep.

Eragon had simply laid down and his eyes had glazed over. So his son slept like the elves. It had certainly scared him when he had first arrived at Ilirea over a century ago. Morzan had told him that they were still aware of what was going on around them, even as they dreamed. Looking at Eragon, he could almost believe it.

He stopped his trekking for a moment — glancing around. The forest was shaded gold.

It was Eragon's watch next. He sighed. He seemed to be doing more of that than usual — sighing — and that was saying something. Nevertheless, it was time. He had been waiting to see if anything better came to mind. Not waiting: hoping. Alas, this seemed the only option, and he would not leave it to chance.

* * *

"Eragon," Brom whispered.

Eragon blinked blearily.

"Eragon, we have a problem to address."

Eragon's hand flew instinctively to his side, but he only gripped air.

"Not that kind of problem. Though I suppose you'll be needing this." Brom pulled a long cloth-wrapped package from the saddle-bags. (Brom had gotten some new ones in town, since he didn't trust anything that had been in the hands of a shade.) He passed the object to Eragon.

Eragon didn't have to open the package to recognize the familiar weight of Brisingr in his hand.

"So, what kind of problem then?" he asked, glancing around for something that might give away their position. He got his answer. Slumped against a nearby tree was none other than Roran. Saphira was nuzzling his side, attempting to rouse him so he could scratch her.

"Magic-induced sleep?"

Brom nodded curtly.

"How much did he see?"

"Enough."

"What do we do? Do we explain everything to him?"

"Can he guard his mind against Galbatorix?"

"No," his mouth answered of its own accord. He had forgotten he was still under oath until sundown. "But he could learn. He has before."

"And if he can't? What happens if your story makes its way to Galbatorix?"

Eragon shook his head, attempting to rid himself of the images flying by. _Roran's here. Brom is standing right in front of me._ The memories had only become more vivid in the last month.

"The Fall will be over before it began. Galbatorix will work until he finds a way to force the remaining Eldunarí under his control to send himself back to the beginning of his own story…"

"No one can know Eragon. The risk that the knowledge could make its way into the wrong hands is far too great."

"I have to tell him something."

"This isn't just about Roran."

"What are you suggesting?"

"An oath."

Eragon's fingernails began to dig into his palms. "Oaths are what got me here in the first place," he replied, his voice rising steadily. "If I hadn't made so many bloody oaths to begin with, we may have won this war the first time."

"But you didn't win, did you? Everyone you cared about died. And if word ever makes it to Galbatorix that he can have a second chance at life, then you can be sure that the fate of Alagaësia will be far worse. Imagine a hundred dragon riders at his command — a thousand. All nameslaves."

"He's right." They both looked over. Arya was alert and ready to give her opinion.

 _Another oath Saphira: never to tell my story again._ He looked over at Roran. _Though in truth, I doubt anyone else would believe me regardless. I suppose it's better to use the knowledge I have to make a difference — not to make everyone assume that I'm insane._

"What must I say?" Saphira had come over, rubbing her back against his legs, attempting to comfort him. Besides, he was more likely to scratch her than the unconscious Roran.

"I want you to promise never to communicate anything to anyone besides Saphira anything that would lead anyone besides Saphira, Arya, or I to believe that you have ever lived any time more than once. I also want you to promise never to communicate anything to anyone besides Saphira anything that would lead anyone besides Saphira, Arya, or I to believe that you have made an oath concealing this information."

Arya tilted her head. "Prolix perhaps, but sound. Must it be so restricting?"

"Eragon, did you accidentally swear to answer all of our questions until dusk?" asked Brom.

"Yes."

"Ah."

"In that case, Eragon, I would appreciate if you would tell me why."

"Why?"

"Why you followed me."

Eragon blinked. "We only just met last night… I mean, I've known you for years, but…" Brom and Arya were staring at him again. Saphira was staring at his pocket. _I don't have any meat Saphira._

"We're speaking the ancient language," Brom murmured. "Eragon, how old are you?"

"17."

"Aye, to you, but we have not lived the last two years that you have. To us, in this time, how old would you be?"

"15."

"So how old are you?"

"17… or 15."

"Incredible," Arya gasped. "Two conflicting truths. Though I still want an answer."

"I…" he shut his mouth for a moment. Arya wouldn't take a show of emotion well. "Glenwig and Fäolin have recently passed — and you only just met me when you discovered… I just wanted to make sure you were alright."

She remained silent.

"Eragon," Brom chastised, looking to his right. "Roran."

He closed his eyes and nodded. He repeated the oath, and Brom and Arya did the same.

That was it. He could never tell his family the truth.

"What is your name?", Brom asked softly.

 _What is he doing? I've already said his oaths._ "Eragon Bromson. Rider of Saphira," he said half unwillingly.

"How old are you?"

"17"

"How old are you?"

 _We've been through this before._ He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing would come out. "17," he answered again. _Two truths could lead someone to believe I had lived twice… what if I had said 15 first?_

"What is your race?"

"I-", his oath stopped him once again. But why? _I guess… I guess it just doesn't make sense for the dragons to change a non-rider's race. So…_ He looked off into the forest. "I am neither human nor elf, but something in-between."

"What is your father's name?"

Eragon raised an eyebrow. "Brom."

"And what race am I?"

"Human."

"What is your mother's name?"

Eragon choked on his tongue. He could say nothing. But light still streamed between the trees. He was also bound to answer. "You never told me my mother's name, but I know she died shortly after giving birth. In truth, I'm not certain that you've told anyone whom you didn't bind in oath that you even have a son."

"What was your mother's race?"

Eragon finally understood Brom's game. They needed to keep the truth from being discovered, but they also needed people to trust them. If they were going to start a war, they needed a story that none of them would deviate from. Logic didn't make him hate his answer any less. "Considering my race and yours, it seems the only logical answer is that my mother was an elf." He saw Selena before him. His gut clenched. His mother had hidden him, done what she could to protect him, she would not want that put in jeopardy. Still, it tasted like betrayal.

Arya's jaw clenched, and her eyes gazed unseeing. She didn't like it anymore than he did.

"Who raised you and where?"

"A human family raised me. Garrow, Marion, and their son Roran and I lived in Carvahall." He glanced at his cousin, still slumped against the tree, who was beginning to snore.

"In a human village?"

"Aye."

"And you were accepted among them?"

"Yes, I-", he halted once again. He took a breath. "I resembled a human until about a month ago. I suspect that when my mother hid me in Carvahall she placed what enchantments she could to conceal me from her enemies — and yours."

If Brom wanted to ask another question, hehad the sense not to. The forest was dark

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Addressing some questions that popped up from this chapter.

 **How did Roran sneak up on two riders and an elf?**

Remember when Eragon and Roran were rescuing Katrina in Utgard, Eragon kept his mind closed most of the time to keep from letting his enemies know his where-abouts. Well, these guys are in enemy territory, and the Ra'zac are right across the wood, I can't see them leaving their minds open at a time like this.

Eragon and Arya have super senses, but they are asleep (elf sleep, waking dreams, you get me.) They're not as alert as usual.

All of them are crazy tired. It's been a few weeks our time, but in-story, Eragon has been traveling on foot with a concussion for a month and Arya has only been awake for about 12 hours after her coma thing. Brom healed them both (remember he didn't have enough energy to heal a broken arm in book 1). Not to mention, a dragon hatched, they faked a death, and Eragon spilled his guts within the past 12 hours.

 **Why didn't Eragon turn himself back into a human? It would have made it easier to gain the dwarves' and elves' trust.**

Yes. Yes it would. But think about it this way. He could easily make himself look human, but his appearance isn't all that changed. He would have to decrease his strength and speed magically or move in slow-motion on purpose to keep up appearances. Also, his mind changed. When he talked to the Menoa tree, she asked immediately what race he was.

Even if the humans and dwarves didn't figure it out, the elves would. Saphira said Eragon smells more like an elf than a human, and elves have an excellent sense of smell. And if any of them touch his mind (which is bound to happen eventually) they would know he wasn't entirely human.

If it got out that Eragon was hiding that he was an elf-human hybrid, it wouldn't be helpful in gaining the trust of the humans and dwarves, and it certainly wouldn't endear him the elves.

 **Why did Brom ask Eragon why he followed him?**

Yeah, this one's on me. It was supposed to be Arya who asked why Eragon followed her, not Brom. She runs away from him at the end of chapter 8, and the first thing Eragon does in chapter 9 is go running after her.

 **Why couldn't Eragon say Selena's name?**

Check out this scene from Brisingr when Eragon asks Rhunon how she is going to get around her oath and make a sword:

"But how will you make it?"  
A twinkle of amusement appeared in Rhunön's eyes. "I won't. You shall make the sword instead of me, Shadeslayer."  
Eragon gaped at her for a moment, then sputtered and said, "Me? But I was never apprenticed to a blacksmith or a bladesmith. I have not the skill to forge even a common brush knife."  
The twinkle in Rhunön's eyes brightened. "Nevertheless, you shall be the one to make this sword."  
"But how? Will you stand beside me and give me orders as I hammer the metal?"  
"Hardly," said Rhunön. "No, I shall guide your actions from within your mind so that your hands may do what mine cannot. It is not a perfect solution, but I can think of no other means of evading my oath that will also allow me to ply my craft."  
Eragon frowned. "If you move my hands for me, how is that any different from making the sword yourself?"  
Rhunön's expression darkened and, in a brusque voice, she said, "Do you want this sword or not, Shadeslayer?"  
"I do."  
"Then refrain from pestering me with such questions. Making the sword through you is different because I think it is different. If I believed otherwise, then my oath would prevent me from participating in the process. So, unless you wish to return to the Varden empty-handed, you would be wise to remain silent on the subject."  
"Yes, Rhunön-elda."

So, the Oaths Eragon took in this fic didn't directly prevent him from saying his mother's name. But, they prevent him from saying things that would make people suspicious of time travel. Like Rhunön said, if someone believes something conflicts with an oath, then the oath will prevent that person from doing that thing, whether other people agree or not.  
So basically, Eragon can't think of a way to talk about the dragons turning him into an elf-human hybrid without it sounding suspicious. If he's really just been in Carvahall all this time, how would he be changed? It required energy from the entire elven population's spells at the Agaetí Blödhren. If he wasn't changed, then people would assume that he was born half-elf, and his oaths won't let him tell them any differently. So when he said his father was human, saying aloud his mother's name — a human name, and a well-known figure — was the equivalent of saying that his mother was human. It was a bunch of subconscious logic, not the direct wording of the oaths themselves.

* * *

Thank you guys for reading. It's been a joy thus far. Sometimes it's hard to get stuff like this across in dialogue, but I shall try. Until next week.


	10. Deceipt

"Ready?"

Eragon was sure he could never be ready. He was madly running scenarios, attempting to anticipate Roran's every question. Mundane facts-of-life were suddenly both of great importance and scarily distant. _Which crops did we plant last autumn? Did Birka or Brugh strain their leg?_ These questions, he knew, were not what he should be focusing on, but he hardly wanted to focus on Roran. Besides, it was beginning to sink in that while he had knowledge of the future, he was rather out-of-touch with the present.

There had, of course, been an argument over whether they should tell Roran anything at all. If they talked to Roran, why not Garrow? In fact, Eragon had argued with himself over the subject before voicing an opinion. Bottom line, He didn't want Roran involved at all. They had agreed in the end, however, that leaving Roran in the dark the first time hadn't been a favor to anyone. He had proved himself capable of leading and protecting. Furthermore, his loyalty to the cause was unquestionable. So Eragon resolved to tell him what he could. Roran could protect Carvahall in a way he had never been able to.

Eragon nodded, signaling to Brom that he was ready enough. Still, he expected the worst. Brom's oaths prevented him from speaking the whole truth, but they hadn't forced him to renounce Selena's heritage. At the time, he couldn't think of another plausible explanation for his mixed race. He still couldn't. Now he couldn't change his story regardless. The oaths did force him into that. _At least we can speak in the common tongue for once._ He thought as Brom propped Roran's limp form against a tree.

"Vakna." Brom's palm glowed.

Roran's eyelids fluttered open. His eyes darted from one strange figure to another in the fading light. He decided to address the ghost first. "Brom?"

Brom gave a half-smile. "Evening Roran."

"They're planning your funeral in town. At least, they were…"

"Cloaked figures?", Brom asked.

Roran nodded. "Didn't like the look of them. Thought I'd come to Eragon's old favorite spot…

 _He knew of it this whole time?_ Eragon exclaimed, though only Saphira could hear him.

"Um… what's going on?"

"Well, I'm not dead." Brom gestured to his left. "This is Arya. She is an elf."

Arya nodded in greeting.

"I shall let Eragon explain the rest."

Roran looked as if he had stumbled into a seance.

Eragon shifted forward. "Roran."

Roran turned toward the familiar voice, but when he saw who had spoken, he only looked confused.

"He is Eragon, I assure you," Brom spoke gently.

Roran stood up and approached Eragon. His look shifted from confusion to apprehension. But he must have seen the resemblance where Brom had not, for he promptly slapped Eragon in the face.

Eragon couldn't help but smile a bit, but he hid it quickly. _Some things never change_. "I suppose I deserved that."

"That you did."

Arya had settled on the other side of the clearing, her back to them, occupying herself. Though Eragon didn't doubt that she could hear every word.

"What happened?"

Eragon motioned to Roran, towards his favorite shade tree on the edge of the clearing. He sat down cross-legged.

Eragon considered using a spell to keep the others from hearing but decided against it. Their stories would need to line up. _Saphira!_ She wound her way to him, appearing suddenly out of the tall grass, startling Roran.

Roran stared at the angular blue lizard for a moment, uncomprehending. She unfurled her wings a bit as she rubbed her head against his side. "Is that…"

"A dragon," Eragon stated, holding up his marked palm. "And I am her rider."

Roran burst out laughing. He convulsed against the log and couldn't stop himself for several minutes.

Eragon huffed irritatedly. But, he couldn't help but join in, laughing at the absurdity of the circumstances.

"I found her egg in the Spine. Then I began dreaming of an elf being tortured by a shade. I left… to free her."

Still chuckling, he found it difficult to speak. "You ran off into the forest… to find a shade… and what? Slay it?" Roran asked incredulously.

Eragon nodded.

"Blast Eragon, what are you talking about? You're a farm boy! You don't even know how to fight."

"Two years ago, there was… an incident with some urgals. I accidentally used magic and nearly killed myself — along with the everyone in the village. Brom decided to teach me to use magic properly after that, along with swordsmanship."

"Brom?" Roran asked, his disbelief only seemed to be growing. He seemed to find Eragon's change in appearance more believable than the old man teaching swordplay.

"Aye, Brom." Eragon replied with a huff. "Brom was a dragon rider of old… and he's my father."

"A dragon rider? But that would mean…"

"That he's over a century old? Aye, he is."

Roran let himself lean against a nearby tree, arms folded. "If Brom really is your father, how do you explain…" For lack of a better word, Roran pointed to all of Eragon.

Eragon glanced to Saphira, who was relishing his attention, curving her back like a cat. _No way around it, huh Saphira. Brom and his blasted oaths._

"As you probably guessed, I'm not entirely human. My… mother was an elf."

Roran's breath caught.

"I don't actually know what happened," Eragon said. "Brom isn't exactly forthcoming with information. But I know that Brom and Selena were friends, and that Galbatorix has been looking for elves since the fall. So, more than likely my parents hid me here to keep Galbatorix from finding me. I know my mother was a magician. She and Brom must have used what spells they could to hide me here."

"Why not hide you with the other elves?"

"Because…" Thus far his answers had been pre-fabricated, but Eragon wasn't ready for that one. He had to pause. "I was born mortal. Arya over there…" he gestured with a tilt of his head, "is over a century old. If I was really an elf, I wouldn't mature until I was around 60 or 70. It's easy enough to change facial features, dull the senses, and lessen strength. But to give someone longevity… it usually ends in disaster."

Roran was silent. The sky had turned deep purple by now, and with the new moon, Eragon wasn't sure that Roran could see anything.

"What now?" Roran finally croaked.

"I'm leaving." Eragon said. "Saphira — my dragon — is the last female of her kind. I need to protect her, and learn to be a rider. And when she is strong enough," he turned, looking into the forest. "And when she is strong enough we're going to take Galbatorix off the throne."

Roran couldn't help but crack up again. "First a shade, now the king?"

If Roran could see in the dark, he would have been frightened by the look on his cousin's face. "The shade is dead. I slew him. I will do the same to the king."

Roran didn't have to see his eyes to know he was serious. "Why? Why not just stay here, raise Saphira in peace? Or is this place not good enough for you any more? You don't want to be around us measly humans?"

Eragon didn't respond for a moment. The contempt in Roran's voice caught him off guard. "My love for this place, these people, for Carvahall… is why I must leave. You saw the hooded strangers? They are Galbatorix's dragon-hunters, they're coming for me Roran. Actually, you should get home. Anyone missing will be suspect, especially tonight. Be careful. They're very strong, and they aren't human. Keep your head down, protect Garrow and Katrina, and with any luck we'll see each other again."

"So that's it then. We're not related, and you're off to kill the king."

"It's not as if he has a choice." Brom's voice carried from across the clearing. "Eragon won't leave Alagaësia. And if he stays, Galbatorix will find him eventually. When he does, Eragon will either have to join him or fight." Brom said, his voice getting louder as he walked towards them, "You are a liability. If you stick around, the Ra'zac will find you, torture you, and Eragon here will make me come back to rescue you. Considering Eragon's luck, he'd probably get captured along with you. I agree, you need to go, but after you swear silence on the matter."

He took some convincing, but Roran finally swore not to tell Eragon's story in the ancient language. Eragon even taught him the rudiments of guarding his mind to practice. After a tearful goodbye on Eragon's part, they parted ways. "Next time we meet, I'll take you and Katrina flying in a free Alagaësia!" Eragon called.

Roran stopped and looked back.

"You did sell the rings I left you, right?"

Roran paused a moment "The gold ones? Aye."

"Well go ahead and marry her then! I'm not that big of an idiot, I know what those messages you had me running between you meant!"

Roran merely shook his head and smiled. "So long brother, and nice shirt!"

Eragon looked down. He was wearing one of the shirts he had taken from Roran's room. "Thanks…" he said, looking back up, but Roran was gone. Still, Eragon couldn't help but smile. Roran had called him brother, there was hope for them yet.


	11. Dim

Hey guys, Olympia here, responding to some anonymous reviews. Feel free to skip to the line break :)

 **TO: NoDabsAllowed** Yeah, Roran was probably a little out of character last chapter. I have trouble writing his character for some reason. But the way I see it, Roran wouldn't have been so angry or emotional as in the cycle since A: Garrow is alive and B: Katrina is safe for the moment. Eragon was assumed dead this time, hunting in the spine, so if anything Roran is happy his cousin isn't dead. Also, he didn't have Jeod or rumors to soften the blow, so it's safe to say that Roran is in shock. On ExA, that remains to be seen :)

 **TO: Mad hatter** Glad you are enjoying the story so far. There's a Roran subplot comming up sometime, but for now, he'll hopefully be able to get ahead with Eragon's forewarnings. Could you expand on the Eragon's emotions comment? I could use some feedback on this front. It's hard to keep a good balance between allowing readers to understand character motivations and making Eragon seem indecisive. (Though, when there's not immediate danger, he does kind of overthink everything :)

 **TO: Everyone.** Thanks to readers everywhere. One of my favorite things is looking at the traffic graph and seeing which countries you guys are from. It's really cool to see such an international community comming together to explore what started out as a few daydreams.

On with the story.

* * *

"Where to?"

"Ellesméra–Urû'baen"

Brom lifted an eyebrow and looked to Arya.

"Ellesméra. Eragon and Saphira need to begin training immediately, and we need to inform my mother of my whereabouts. Varden-älfakyn relations cannot be going well at the moment." Arya said.

"Urû'bean."

Brom and Arya turned towards Eragon skeptically.

"We can't let Galbatorix find riders for the other eggs."

Roran had headed back hours ago, and Eragon had spent the walk to Therinsford planning their next move. He was determined to keep his brother Murtagh from slavery. Besides, having another dragon rider could tip the scales, especially with Durza out of the picture.

"I agree with Arya", Brom said. "We are not far from the western edge of Du Weldenvarden. Then when Saphira is old enough, you can go to Vroengard," he said, implying they seek the Eldunarí.

Eragon looked to the sliver of moon, near the end of its arc in the sky. Indeed, it wouldn't be a long trip to Du Weldenvarden. Even with Brom holding them back, they could follow the Anora to Ceunon within a few days. _I can't just abandon Murtagh to Galbatorix,_ he said to the dragon perched on his shoulder. _Go to Vroengard… something doesn't feel right. But what was it?_ He checked his wards. They were in place, but so was something else he had missed. He reached out with his mind, there were Saphira, Brom, Arya, the forest creatures… nothing else. He pulled a branch from a nearby tree, and swung it around behind him. He put it to his eye. In the dark, he could just make out a pinprick of a hole that hadn't been there before. _The singularity… the spell that hid the Eldunarí is still there, Saphira!_

"We don't need to go to Vroengard." Eragon said in a hushed tone. The forest they had stopped in just north of Therinsford seemed to hush with him. "I brought them with me."

Arya's eyebrows furrowed, when her mind failed her she looked with her eyes. "Where?"

"They never left me. It's a spell that, well… let me show you." He raked his mind to find the counter-spell. Without Umaroth to guide him, it was difficult, but he was fairly certain he remembered it properly. It was worth the risk to make sure they were alright.

Brom watched with anticipation as Eragon chanted.

There was a flash, and suddenly they were surrounded by a hundred and thirty one crystals of varying shape and color. But the light dimmed, and darkness penetrated once more.

The shade's horse barely jumped. Durza's magic had been far more alarming.

Darkness.

Eldunarí are suppose to glow.

Arya bent down and brushed the tips of her fingers over a large one beside her. "It's cold," she whispered.

Saphira glided from Eragon's shoulder to sniff one of the Eldunarí. She licked it gently with her barbed tongue, then turned to Eragon expectantly.

"A last gift." Brom recited, mirroring Eragon's thoughts. "Their very last."

None of them spoke. They simply looked on in horror at the sight before them. Suddenly Eragon was very glad he had taken oaths of silence. If the sacrifice of 131 of dragons was what it took to bend the laws of time… he shuddered. _No one can ever know._

Saphira chirped. She was nuzzling a fairly large golden Eldunarí. Glaedr's Eldunarí.

Eragon walked a few steps slowly, and bent down to touch it. _Cold._ Saphira began keening softly, letting his emotions out for him _. I replaced my younger self. Did this… rock… replace Glaedr? Oromis… is he even alive?_

Eragon was startled to see Arya next to him, her hand next to his on Glaedr's heart of hearts. "It's warmer than the others." she said. She bent close, cupping her hands around her eyes. "It's dim, but it's glowing. Perhaps it's only sleeping. Perhaps they are all only sleeping."

"Dead dragons don't sleep." was Brom's cold reply.

"They do if they have a living body." Eragon said. "This is Glaedr."

Brom looked down with something akin to horror, and crouched, joining their circle.

"You should talk to him." Arya said, looking to Brom. "You know him best."

Brom nodded slowly, and put his hand on it gingerly next to Eragon and Arya's.

 _Glaedr-ebrithil?_ Brom spoke with his mind so all present could hear him.

They waited silently.

 _Brom-vodhr?,_ came a voice that certainly didn't belong to Glaedr.

 _Aye Oromis-ebrithil. I am Brom. Is Glaedr alright?_ he asked tentatively.

 _No Brom, he is not_. Oromis did not elaborate. _Though I may ask, how are you communicating with me? Or Glaedr, as seems to be the case._

 _I am less than an hour's flight from Ristvak'baen. And how I came to have it, I cannot say. But, I am holding Glaedr's eldunarí._

Eragon could have sworn he heard Oromis sharply take in a breath — which didn't really make sense considering their method of communication.

 _Can you tell me how long you have been in possession of it?_ Brom looked to Eragon.

 _About a month._ Eragon replied.

 _Ah. Glaedr collapsed about a month ago, and has yet to awaken._ He was silent another moment, lost in trains of thought he did not wish to share. _Atra esterní ono thelduin, Arya Dröttningu._

 _Atra du evarínya ono varda, Oromis-elda._

It is good to know you are alive and well. Do you wish for me to tell your mother?

 _Aye. Please let her know that I expect to return to Ellesméra within the next few weeks._

 _Months_. Eragon interjected.

 _Ebrithil,_ Brom interrupted, _I would like to introduce you to the newest member of the order, my son, Eragon._

 _Indeed? Then my mind did not deceive me when I thought I sensed a curious hatchling? It is good to finally meet you Eragon, regardless of the circumstances._

 _It is an honor Ebrithil._

 _You are Brom's son by birth?_

 _Aye, Ebrithil. Though, as you probably noticed, I am part elf._

 _Ah. Then tell me young shur'tugal, why do you think it will take months to reach Ellesméra?_

 _Because,_ Eragon said, gathering his courage, _we need to rescue the other eggs from Urû'baen. Galbatorix has hundreds of Eldunarí at his disposal. If he gains another rider on his side, I will be helpless against him._

There was a finality to his words. For to speak them, the others knew he had to believe them totally.

 _You told him about the Eldunarí?_ was Oromis' only reply. It held more than a tinge of annoyance.

 _It would have been difficult not to, Ebrithil. For we are surrounded by over a hundred of them._ Brom replied.

 _A hundred? I… cannot sense them._

 _They have no glow, no warmth. None but Glaedr's, and his only just. Arya spoke this time._

 _I take it you cannot tell me how these came into your possession either?_

No one replied.

 _It is rumored that Eldunarí get their energy from light._ Oromis thought to them softly.

 _We shall make sure they get plenty of it._ Brom said.

Eragon felt the connection slip away. And if possible, Glaedr's light grew a bit dimmer. Or perhaps it was drowned out by the orange glisten sneaking it's way into the skyline.

* * *

It was midday.

The Eldunarí hadn't stirred.

Saphira was attempting to fly from a nearby branch. _Ouch_. This landing was the worst yet. Eragon rubbed his aching forearm.

"Urgh." he said, attempting to muffle his response so he wouldn't wake Brom. The worst were the phantom wing-pains. He couldn't rub wings he didn't have. He tried rubbing Saphira's wings instead. _Nope. Worse. Much, much worse._

"Waíse heill."

Saphira wiggled a bit, then inspected her wing and gave a satisfied chirp.

"Shhhhhh." Eragon chided softly.

He didn't remember pain like this the last time Saphira had learned to fly. But then again, he hadn't been around much the last time. He relished every minute of it. Pain and all. Especially now that he had a plan. He needed Arya and Brom's help if he was going to rescue Murtagh. Though he was sure they would prefer to drag him to Ellesméra. The person he really needed on his side was Oromis. And Oromis would require an explanation.

Eragon suddenly felt a rush of jubilation. "SQUEAK", Saphira trumpeted her victory over the ground as she flapped past Eragon. It didn't last for long, however, and she hit face-first this time.

Eragon grunted.

So did Brom. But he opened one eye and smirked at the crumpled blue hatchling. His smile faded as he looked at his surroundings. The eldunarí were still scattered around them, unmoved from where Eragon's spell had spilled onto the soil.

Saphira ignored them all, as she had for the last three days, and stopped at Glaedr's heart-of-hearts. She crouched down, and lay with her tail around it's edge. She attempted to cover it with her too-small wing.

Eragon began to lift her off Glaedr. "He needs light, little one." He laughed to himself, at being able to call her the nickname for once.

 _Let the hatchling be._ Thrummed a deep voice.

 _Ebrithil_! Eragon replied.

 _As my body yet lives, I will find sustenance through the hunt. Let the hatchling enjoy my warmth if she so chooses. It is good to meet you young shur'tugal._

 _Good to meet me?_ Eragon thought to himself. _An honor to meet you as well, Ebrithil._ He projected to the golden gem.

How fair the other Eldunarí?

 _They have not stirred._ Arya added.

 _Aye, and I cannot sense them. Oromis tells me you are in Therinsford?_

 _Near it, yes._ Brom replied.

 _Take them to the lonely mountain_.

 _There are surely traps there_. Brom replied. _Galbatorix wouldn't have left it untouched._

 _You needn't climb it. Just… take them to Ristvak'baen._

So they did. They gathered as many as they could in the saddlebags, and the rest they carried in their arms.

A horse and a small blue dragon followed the glittering procession.

They arrived at Utgard in the afternoon. They stopped, arms weary, and set them out in the sun as they had been for the past few days.

 _Smash them._ Came a quiet voice.

"What?" came Arya's ardent reply.

 _Whether their souls still cling to their heart-of-hearts, I do not know. But I know this: the hatchling is right to ignore them. They are little more than stones now, and will not awaken no matter how much you coax. The least you can do is give proper rest. Smash them._

"Won't it be suspicious?" Eragon asked, both bewildered and angry.

"Not here." Brom replied. He looked left and right. "No one will be suspicious of fallen dragons in this place of sorrow."

"We can't abandon them. They could yet awaken." Arya insisted.

 _No longer. You can at least give them dignity, two-legs-pointy-ears. Let them find rest amongst the stars._

Eragon stared at the heart-of-hearts that had given him hope — now simply a pile of gems. In the sunlight, he saw for the first time that they had begun to loose their sheen. They were dull, some almost milky. He could believe that they would not wake. Though he did not want to. His mind flashed to a memory of dragons — hatchlings. It was hard to count with the scurrying, but there where perhaps thirteen of them. They were playing in what looked to be a nursery. Young elves held some of them, and others tussled with each other. Perhaps the nursery on vroengard? Eragon smiled. It must have been another memory the Eldunarí had crammed into his mind. Saphira tugged on his ear while she hummed. _Ouch, Saphira!_ He would see hatchlings again one day. They would win the war.

He opened his eyes.

He found a medium-sized Eldunarí, white in color. He held it high above his head. "This was once Umaroth, who's rider was the elf Vrael. May the wind always be at your back and the sun upon your face."

Eragon closed his eyes.

No one breathed.

Eragon let go.


	12. Persuasion

Eragon was leaning against a fir tree.

He looked to his right. Arya was fiddling with some grass. Her expression was emotionless as ever. Though for once, it did not strike him as a façade. They were exhausted past the point of emotions. While the previous two days had not been physically demanding, they were still some of the most trying he could remember.

A hundred and thirty-one. That is how many dragons they had buried.

 _It truly is the end of an age, Saphira_. _This can't have been easy on Brom. He was there when many of these Dragons fell. Though — perhaps being able to bury them will give the war some finality._

She looked at him with her ice-blue eyes, and he couldn't help but laugh.

She cocked her head.

 _Soon your eyes alone will be as big as your head is now. Enjoy sitting on my shoulder while you can._

She seemed to take his words to heart and curled up in his lap.

Arya's ear twitched.

Eragon closed his eyes and extended the probe of his mind.

Footsteps and an approaching consciousness. Brom had returned from his trek back to Therinsford with some more rations for their travels. He smelled fresh baked bread and...blackberries? _It's not the right time of year for fresh fruit..._

"Blackberry jam?" Eragon asked.

It was hardly the usual rations.

Brom shrugged.

Eragon merely shook his head. Blackberry was undoubtedly his favorite, and since Aunt Marion died, he only got it when Elaine invited him for dinner. _I guess Brom paid attention when I was growing up._

Along with the bread and jam, Brom had refilled their waterskins, and gotten some gloves and new clothes for Eragon.

Eragon went a ways into the woods to change. The new clothes were hardly lámarae, but they kept him warmer than the thinning cotton he had gotten from Roran. He clasped a thick wool sapphire-blue cloak around his neck last. _Saphira-blue_ , he thought to himself. It was long enough to cover the sword at his hip, at least enough to conceal that he was armed if they passed travelers on the road. He ripped a strip of cloth from his old clothes to tie around his ears and brow. If they went towards Urû'baen, they would be passing many human settlements.

They ate their evening meal in silence. It was only a matter of time before they started arguing again. Eragon was adamant that storming Urû'baen was the key to winning the war. Brom and Arya were adamant that they couldn't help anyone if they were dead.

"What's his name?" Brom asked.

Eragon swallowed his bite of bread. "Who's name?"

"His," Brom replied simply, nodding towards the bay stallion to his left, who appeared to be napping, though he was still standing.

"Don't know." Eragon said with a smirk, "Didn't have time to ask Durza."

Brom glared.

Eragon swallowed. His father would only be harder to reason with if he was annoyed.

"...But... since he saved our lives", he glanced at Arya, who was still munching. "I thought we could call him Artos."

"You want to call a horse bear?" Arya asked incredulously.

"When Roran and I were kids, we followed a rabbit a ways too far into the woods, and ended up in the Spine. To abbreviate a painfully long story, we came across a Bear. I wanted to kill it, thinking it was a bloodthirsty beast. But Roran covered my mouth and forced me to back away slowly. He pointed out some cubs in a tree above. The bear was protecting it's young." Eragon reached towards the horse, now designated Artos, and stroked his neck. "He reminds me of that mother bear. I thought he would be skittish and cruel after being ridden by the shade, but instead, he's kind, gentle, and intelligent. He saved our lives.

"His size had nothing to do with it?" Brom asked with a smirk.

"That too." Eragon agreed. The horse was quite stocky.

Arya was looking at him with a softness he hadn't seen before. _Since she forgot who I am anyways._ His anecdote seemed to have touched her. _Arya_. Eragon thought, though only Saphira could hear him. He so longed to place his hand on her cheek and kiss her softly. He fidgeted, visibly uncomfortable, and shifted his gaze to the fire. He could hear her hair rustle against her neck as she turned her gaze to the fire as well.

"We should leave at daybreak." Brom said, attempting to bring them back to the subject without causing another row.

"Perhaps we should consult Ajihad," Eragon said.

Brom raised a thick, graying eyebrow.

"Scrying him and letting him know what has occurred may prevent unnecessary... strife, between the Varden and the älfakyn."

"And if there are traitors amidst the Varden?" Arya asked from across the fire.

She obviously meant the twins, but could not voice her concern clearly without breaking her oaths.

"Hrothgar, Arya could scry Hrothgar. While all dwarves may not have a love for riders, they would never side with Galbatorix."

Arya and Brom looked at each other for a moment. Brom nodded slightly, Arya exhaled sharply, then mumbled something in the ancient language. A depression appeared in the earth. "Adurna." Water rose to fill the depression. "Garjzla." a bright, white light appeared above Arya, suspended in midair — firelight wouldn't have been much for the dwarves to see by. "Draumr kópa." The water became smooth as glass, then a short, bearded figure appeared. "Derûndânn Nagratha..."

That was all Eragon caught since she continued in dwarvish. _I didn't know Arya spoke dwarvish._ "Ugh," Eragon uttered involuntarily. Brom had shoved an elbow into his ribs. Eragon sent him a questioning look.

Brom huffed, than yanked the cloth strip off Eragon's head. "We're presenting you to the Varden and dwarves; you can at least make yourself presentable," Brom whispered.

Eragon smoothed out his disheveled eyebrows. _This is going to take some getting use to._ He told Saphira, who chirped her agreement.

"What was that?" asked a deep voice, emanating from the pool of water. Eragon hadn't noticed Hrothgar step into view. Not just Hrothgar, but Ajihad as well. They must have already been together in a meeting.

"One of my companions," said Arya simply. Then she began the traditional elven greeting, and Ajihad and Hrothgar followed suit.

"It's nice to see you Arya, but what is the nature of this call, the council is assembled." said Ajihad.

"Are you alone?" was Arya's curt reply.

"Yes, besides the guards," replied Hrothgar.

"Clear the room, and Hrothgar, call upon a spellcaster you trust. I have news."

Hrothgar didn't appear pleased, but neither did he seem insulted.

 _I suppose working together for 70 years breeds some understanding_. Eragon thought.

Hrothgar ordered one of his guards to call a nearby spellcaster, who appeared shortly after. Arya coached her in a spell that would prevent anyone besides Hrothgar and Ajihad from being privy to their conversation.

Once the spellcaster disappeared from view, Arya began without prompting. "I apologize for the precautions, but we have reason to believe there are traitors amidst the Varden."

"Aye, we have known for some time. Ajihad replied, "But we have been unable to find the culprit."

Arya nodded. "We may be able to assist you, but first let me catch you up on recent events."

With a nod from her audience, she began, "We were attacked near Osilon. Glenwig and Faölin have fallen. I sent the egg to Brom, but I was captured by the shade, Durza."

This piece of information received audible gasps.

"Though I was... rescued. I am now in Palancar Valley, with Brom."

Brom stepped into view, but not without a stern look towards Arya first. He apparently had expected her to do more of the explaining.

"Ajihad. Hrothgar." Brom said, nodding to both.

"It is good to see you old friend," Ajihad said.

Brom gave a small smile.

"The egg is safe then?" Hrothgar asked.

Brom's smile widened. "The egg has hatched." He motioned to Eragon, who sat next to Brom, looking into the pool of water. Saphira peered down from his shoulder. "I would like to introduce to you Rider Eragon Shadeslayer, and his dragon Saphira."

Ajihad surprised Eragon by beginning, "Atra esterní ono thelduin, Eragon Shur'tugal."

"Atra du evarínya ono varda," It is an honor to meet you, Ajihad, and you Grimstborith Hrothgar."

"Tell me Eragon," Hrothgar began, "How did you come to be in Palancar Valley with Brom? I thought Islanzadí ordered all elves to remain within Du Weldenvarden?"

Eragon looked over at Brom.

Brom looked back, questioningly.

Eragon only nodded his consent. No need to share thoughts.

"Eragon is my son, Hrothgar," Brom replied.

"He's-" began Ajihad.

"His mother was an elf," Brom said curtly.

Whatever response Eragon had been expecting, it was not Ajihad's. For Ajihad smiled with triumph. "It seems you have solved one of our problems already."

Eragon furrowed his eyebrows.

"Your very existence solves our most pressing disagreement with the elves. Since your dragon's egg was recovered from Galbatorix, we have been arguing over which race the next rider should be, and you young Shur'tugal, are both." he laughed a bit at the end. "Though I'll admit I did not know that the existence of such a being was possible."

Eragon smiled a bit. _Could this be a good thing Saphira?_ She was humming and had curled around his neck like a fox scarf. It was rather relaxing, as long as she kept her claws to herself. Eragon had expected people to be taken aback by the supposed existence of a half-breed. _Though, half the Varden thought I was half elf and didn't seem to mind._ He added as an after thought.

"No wonder you insisted on taking messages to Ellesméra yourself." Hrothgar smiled knowingly at Brom. "Though why did you take the chance of raising him in the Empire?"

"He is as fast and strong as any elf," Brom stated, putting a hand on Eragon's shoulder, "but he was born mortal. As such it would have been…difficult to raise him in Du Weldenvarden. Instead, he was born in Carvahall and raised among humans. Though I have taught him all I know of the elvish tongue and customs since his mother died, along with Magic and swordplay. He is already an accomplished warrior, and is dedicated to our cause."

"So it would seem, Shadeslayer." Ajihad replied to Eragon directly, " Durza is dead?"

Eragon nodded.

"You're certain? How may I ask, did you kill him exactly?"

"I drove a sword through his heart. I assure you, he is truly dead. I saw the spirits float off into the sky, and his enchantments over the Urgals were broken."

There was a loud boom, and a rattling sound, as if someone was trying very hard to open the sealed doors. Hrothgar and Ajihad looked off to the right, to a place not visible through the mirror.

"Excuse me a moment," said Hrothgar, moving out of view.

"That is excellent news." Ajihad said with a smile, "Are you coming to the Varden to continue training, or is Eragon ready to go straight to Ellesméra?"

"-Sorry… we will have to cut this short. Urgals are invading tronjheim through the lower tunnels." Hrothgar began.

"We have information, Hrothgar. Vital information. Bigger than Jeod's passageway in Urû'bean. We can explain both your spy problem and the Urgals." Brom cut in.

"Orthíad," Eragon exclaimed. "Galbatorix had the Urgal army gathering in Orthíad. But he was controlling them. They entered a treaty with him, since he offered them land, but instead of accepting them into his army Galbatorix had Durza enslave their minds. He forced the various tribes to work together as a single unit, though it is not in their nature. Gathered together like that, it is likely that there is now war between them. They probably happened on Farthen Dûr by chance in the tunnels or were lead there by the twins, who are your traitors. They have orders to assassinate you Ajihad."

"That is troubling," said Ajihad. "The twins are Du Vrangr Gata's strongest magicians."

"You're certain?" Hrothgar asked.

"I have not been idle in my retirement." Brom replied ".We have...sources within the empire. The information can be trusted." replied Brom.

"I cannot try the twins on an anonymous tip Brom; you know this. You set up the accursed Council of Elders to begin with. While I trust you, you have insisted on keeping your existence a secret from them. Are you ready to reveal yourself?"

"No, I cannot allow word of my survival to reach Galbatorix yet. He would expect my involvement with the egg, and we need Saphira's hatching to remain a secret for as long as possible. Especially while we are within the Empire."

Ajihad began pacing in front of Hrothgar. "It would be different if we could search their minds, but I have no magicians powerful enough. Hrothgar?"

Hrothgar followed the restless human with his eyes, "I do not feel comfortable letting my spellcasters near those wretched beings, even if they were not traitors. They are unnatural. Besides, you know how the council would feel about Dwarven interference in their games.."

"I may have a solution," Eragon said. He needed to keep his existence a secret from the Empire for now if he was going to go through with the plan he had been forming. But, he thought he could give the council a satisfactory answer that he could speak in the ancient language, and may also give the Varden some hope. Perhaps he could even nudge them in the direction of attacking the Empire when the time came. "Tell him that the son of Brom has killed Durza, released Arya Svit-kona from under his watch, and recovered the dragon's egg he tried to steal. Tell anyone you like actually, Galbatorix knows it already. If you need a name to attach to it, the Urgals have taken to calling me Firesword."

Brom and Arya's eyes were boring into him now.

"I did not just fight Durza with my sword, but also with my mind. Even once I killed him, I spent an entire day in his memories. It is a miracle that I stand before you now. Though, I think it worthwhile, since I discovered many of Galbatorix's plans. I also scoured the minds of some of the Urgals I met along the way. Between these sources and others, we know many of Galbatorix's plans, at least, what his plans would have been if his invasion of Farthen Dûr had been successful. He knows your location; the twins gave it to him. He has reached the height of his power, and now he is finally looking to destroy his enemies. Soon he will mount an army of humans impervious to pain, and nearly impossible to kill save by decapitation, and sworn to him in the ancient language so they cannot flee. He has even found a rider for the red dragon." Eragon added darkly. "There is more information, far more, but beyond this requires oaths of silence in the ancient language.

Arya showed no ill feelings, but prodded lightly, though not gently, at the edge of his mind. He allowed her entrance immediately. _What are you doing?_ She asked. _It is a believable explanation for how you acquired the intelligence, but I would not believe memories given by a shade. And they were not elected to lead for their stupidity._

Eragon gulped. _They will believe me if you and Brom back me up._

She withdrew her mind, and after a moment, she nodded hesitantly. It was too late to change their story now. Though she still seemed angry with him, or simply with the world in general. Even after touching her mind he wasn't sure. She was still breathtaking either ways.

Coming back to the present, Eragon saw that both Hrothgar and Ajihad were looking to Brom.

"He speaks the truth." Brom replied.

"Is there anything else relevant to the present attack?"

Eragon shook his head. "Only that the twins are probably the ones giving the orders with Durza gone. So, try not to go with them down any tunnels." Eragon could feel Arya's glare without looking.

"In that case, I must organize a counterstrike. With any luck, I will be back within a half hour. Thus far the attacks have been small, and my generals are capable. Though it is good to know that we will not be facing a full-scale invasion just yet." For such a small being, his footsteps made deafening echoes as he exited the room, the doors clanged boldly, and glowed purple as the dwarven spellcaster, whose name Eragon remembered was Rena, set an extra spell to seal them from eavesdroppers.

Brom and Arya began discussing the terms of the oath in the ancient language, and Ajihad was using Rena for interpretation, though it was not going very well since the common tongue was not the mother tongue of either of them. Eragon took the lapse in conversation to try and lower his ever-increasing heart rate. _Glaedr-Ebrithil?_

 _Aye, hatchling?_ Glaedr replied in the ancient language.

 _Since we are going to be catching the dwarves and Varden up on intel, could you and Oromis-Ebrithil relay the information to Islanzadí and the elven council?_

 _Are you asking me to swear an oath of silence pointy-ears?_ He paused. _Are your ears pointy? I have not met a halfling before._

Eragon attempted to bite down his laughter to keep their conversation unnoticed. _Aye Ebrithil, my ears are pointed. I am nearly indistinguishable from a full-elf actually, just…a bit rougher around the edges. And no, I am not asking for an oath. You can make your own judgment after you have heard the news_.

 _Hmm.._ His hum could have been boulders rubbing together. _Then I shall listen. Oromis is on his way to the council now. He will relay what is relevant._

Eragon checked on his companions' progress. Ajihad and Brom were catching up. _How is your hatchling?_

 _She is well Ebrithil. She loves the fresh air out here, and the open sky. She managed to fly up to the top of a tree just a few hours ago, and I think she will begin hunting for herself soon. She dreams of squirrels sometimes._ Eragon intermixed his words with sensory information, the scents brought by a gentle breeze, the rustling of plane grasses, Saphira's pure concentration in her imaginary hunt, and the amusement and joy he received from his connection to her, along with a thousand unnamable and simultaneous sensations.

Eragon could feel Glaedr's mind flooding deeper into his. _You are puzzling young one. Already you speak to me like a fellow dragon. Elves who have been riders many years often do not possess this skill. Tell me, do you communicate with animals often?_

 _Aye master, I keep my mind open to everything around me, unless there is a reason not to._

 _Brom has trained you well. Tell me, did you really spend a day in Durza's mind?_

Eragon presented a few memories of Carsaib's life to Glaedr. Glaedr pressed in deeper, seeking the sources of the information Eragon had provided about the empire. However, their exchange was cut short by Brom's call, "Eragon!".

"Eragon, I need you to be aware of your surroundings at all times, even when you're speaking to Saphira, understand? If I were your enemy, you would be dead."

Eragon felt a sudden flood of anxiety, and sporadic memories as Glaedr retreated from his mind. "Yes Ebrithil," he said, ignoring the odd sensation.

"I am no master, son."

"Yes, father." Brom still looked taken aback by the use of the title, even though he began the exchange.

"Hrothgar and Ajihad have already sworn silence, and Arya and Rena have cast spells to keep the conversation between the five of us. Since you are the one who experienced it, I will leave the explaining to you, as long as you don't botch it."

 _Ah Saphira, he's bashing me in front of Ajihad and Hrothgar! And I haven't even done anything yet._ She started humming again in her sleep, still precariously perched across his shoulders. I _t is good to have him back, though, as infuriating as he is._ "Right," he began aloud. In one go, he was going to attempt to convince the dwarves, Varden, the elven council, his father, and the love of his life to follow him, a rider for a whole three days in their eyes, into a full-on attack on Urû'bean. Hopefully, they would see things his way. Otherwise, he would storm Urû'bean without them. Though he would probably need to leave Saphira behind…

"Eragon! The Ra'zac are after us, and Urgals are at their door."

"Sorry." He steadied himself and aligned his thoughts. "We can share our full story another time then. For now, I will tell you that we have been gathering intelligence for a long time now since I began training when I turned fifteen, which was two years ago."

"You're seventeen?" asked Ajihad.

"I am."

"A child by even dwarven standards," added Hrothgar.

"He is part human," countered Brom.

"A part-human rider. He is immortal. Thus he is to be judged by elven standards of age." Arya added pointedly.

 _She's already trying to warn me off her._ "I get it, I'm young."

"I do not mean to offend you, Eragon." Ajihad attempted to soothe his pride. "If anything, I am impressed. You have already killed a shade, no small feat on its own. By all means, though, continue,"

"Brom has spies across the empire. I have met with many of them, and now have detailed knowledge of all the fortified cities and their defensive capabilities. I know Galbatorix's preferred trade methods, many of his intended attack strategies, and more. In short, we know far more than can be said in this meeting alone, and anything that was written down was burned when we fled the Ra'zac, but it is committed to memory."

"You, and you alone?" Hrothgar asked.

"He has told Arya and me all he knows Hrothgar," Brom defended, "but he is the one who received the information directly. Until a month ago, he was an unknown in the Empire, able to move about undetected. Besides, I am not as young as I use to be, and it was my duty to remain uncompromised until I could train the next rider. Besides, at least I knew where he was. When he wasn't on mission or in training, he had a habit of running off into the Spine."

"What did you expect from an elfling?" asked Hrothgar. Though his words were blunt, he spoke without malice. Eragon looked to see Arya's reaction, she was smiling. Just barely, but actually smiling. _Perhaps she appreciates his straight-forwardness._ Not that that ever worked for him. _I suppose working together for 70 years allows for some trust in motivations._ _Elfling though, really?_

"Eragon, continue," Arya said when she noticed him watching her.

"Right. Well, there is information that I am not able to disclose, for it was a great secret of the riders. But by this knowledge, Galbatorix's…project which has been occupying him for the entirety of his rule, and has been increasing his strength, is finished. He is as powerful as he will ever be in terms of sheer force, and as mentioned before, his attention has finally been drawn elsewhere. He has been looking for a rider, and he has found one for the red egg. Though I don't think he knows it yet. Murtagh, son of Morzan."

No one interrupted this time; he had their rapt attention.

"Intelligence strongly suggests, however, that he is no friend of the king's. I think he will sway to our side if given the chance. Though this is not to be relied upon, obviously. We have the precise location of the eggs, which are in Urû'baen. We also have knowledge of many of the traps that have been laid within the Citadel."

Again no one spoke, but they were beginning to grasp what he was suggesting.

"There is more. Galbatorix is not finished seeking power. He has also been creating new weapons. His archers use bows of metal whose range capabilities rival elven weapons. He has also been experimenting on humans. He has created, or will soon create, soldiers that cannot feel pain: the laughing dead. They are a threat even to the elves, for they fight until they can no longer move. They must be utterly dead to be defeated. Worst, however, he is seeking the name of names, and he is on the right track. He has discovered a tablet written long before the elves' arrival in Alagaësia, in a lost script. By our best estimate, we have a year and a half at most until he deciphers its meaning."

"By name of names, you mean-"

"The name of the ancient language." Arya finished solemnly for Ajihad.

"With which he could control magic itself, and render oaths meaningless." Eragon began again. "Wards, weapons, and all manner of attacks would be useless against him. We need to strike before that happens."

"How exactly did you come across this information?" ask Ajihad.

Eragon looked to Brom, who nodded. "I interrogated one of the Ra'zac, actually. They work with Galbatorix because he gives them humans to feed on, but they are far less than loyal. One offered me the information in exchange for me spreading word of how terrifying they are, of all things."

"And you believe them?" Ajihad asked to the three watching through the stilled water.

 _If I may._ Oromis chimed in Eragon's head, and from the looks of it, Brom's and Arya's as well. _There was a tablet hidden away in Vroengard's library that matched your description, Eragon. It held a strange, elemental magic, though we could discern no proper spells that had been placed on it. Many thought it to have been written by the Grey Folk. Try as we might, no one in the order could decipher it. Considering its magical nature, it is quite possible that it survived Vroengard's destruction._

Brom repeated Oromis' story for the others, as they were not aware of his presence in the conversation. Though this verified Eragon's tale, they still continued frowning at him, deep in thought.

"To be clear, Eragon, you are suggesting we declare war against the Empire?" Hrothgar questioned, frown deepening.

"I want you to continue preparing for the possibility, as you have done since Galbotorix secured the Broddring kingdom, and since the Varden was founded. Just know that the time for war is coming very soon. But no, what I am suggesting now is an immediate strike to the heart of Urû'bean. We need to retrieve the dragon eggs before they hatch, and I hope to capture, or otherwise destroy the object that holds the name of names. He has just lost Durza, who taught him dark spells and commanded his army, and the Urgals have fled. It will take him time to muster his forces, so now is the time to strike."

"If the mission fails, all hope is lost," Ajihad spoke.

"And if we do not try, there is no hope to begin with. Don't you understand? I am not, and will never be a match for Galbatorix! He has no known weaknesses, and is feasibly powerful enough to he could wipe out the entire Varden with a word! Only his pride has kept him locked in his cave, his madness, but no longer." it was Eragon's turn to pace. "He will strike, and he will strike soon. We need more riders on our side. We need everyone we can gather. The elves, dwarves, Varden, Surda… I am in good standing with the Urgals, they may be willing to help, and if we win a few battles, I am sure the werecats will be in contact. But a few Urgal attacks will convince no one! We need to even the playing field, if only in appearance. So I am going to Urû'bean. I would appreciate Brom and Arya's help. I know of no one else capable within the empire, besides perhaps Angela, but who knows where she is. And do not attempt to talk me out of it."

Brom put a hand on Eragon's shoulder, "I was not going to."

"Nor was I," Arya agreed to his surprise,"You are right. We need to move swiftly."

"And Saphira?" Ajihad asked.

"She will be big enough to be ridden by the time we reach Urû'bean," Eragon finished.

"Hmm… I do not like it. But I do not think I will be able to dissuade you. But this project, this knowledge, that has allowed Galbatorix to gain so much power. You know what it is? Is it something you could use to increase your own strength?" Hrothgar asked.

"Do not ask such a thing." Arya condemned. "What Galbatorix has done to gain power is among the worst of crimes! And any chance we had at gaining some of that power is long since lost,"

"Do not be angry with me. You are the ones who insist on keeping this knowledge a secret, even after we have sworn oaths of silence in the ancient language. Need I point out that no one seemed to have a problem telling Arya."

By now Saphira's stomach had started rumbling again. Eragon's pacing had awoken her from her morning nap, but since Eragon was engrossed in conversation, she glided down from his shoulder and sought something for herself.

"I stand with Hrothgar." Ajihad said. "I do not like sending the three of you in alone. I would prefer to send someone else. But, if this truly is the best, and only option set before us, I will not argue against it. I only wish we knew the elves' stance."

 _Islandzadí has agreed to enter a war with Galbatorix if we have both eggs in our possession and Eragon's support._ Oromis projected.

Arya repeated this for Hrothgar and Ajihad, adding, "We managed to run this plan by the elven council as well."

"I think that is all we have to tell for the moment. Do not expect us to communicate with you until after our mission." Brom said.

"No, keep magic use to a minimum within the empire, as usual." Ajihad replied.

Brom and Arya nodded.

"As always, it is good to know we have allies," Hrothgar said. "Gûntera watch over you. You will surely need it."

Arya grimaced, but kept her words cordial.

They said their goodbyes as Arya ended the spell.

"Wait, Ajihad! Has the Varden destroyed any of the Empire's bridges lately?" Eragon called frantically.

"No, but quite a number of them–"

The spell ended completely, cutting off his words. Arya's posture slumped a bit after that. She had kept the spell going for a good two hours.

"What was that about?"

"When the Varden takes out a bridge-" His oaths stopped him again, mid-speech, even in the common tongue. _This is going to get annoying._ He tried again. "If the Varden disrupted Galbatorix's trade routes — something worse than the usual raids — then he would likely get mad. And when people are angry, their true feelings come through, and there is no hiding behind honeyed words. The people around him may see his true madness. I don't know about you, but I would attempt to escape."

Brom handed Arya some more bread and Jam to compensate the energy from the extended scrying spell. "We will do what we can. Retrieving the eggs is our top priority." Brom looked at the bread in his hand and huffed, reaching instead for some of the dried meat he had brought for Saphira. "You know, if I come with you, I will only slow you down. I could take Artos and bring Saphira to Du Weldenvarden for safety."

 _No._ Glaedr rumbled. _Their bond is still forming. Separating a dragon and rider at this stage can be more damaging than removing a newborn from its mother. They remain together at least until she speaks._

 _Besides,_ Oromis added, _you may not be as young as you once were Brom, but there are still none better in the arts of spying and remaining unseen. They will need your knowledge._

 _"_ Did my mother really condone us invading Urû'bean?" Arya queried.

 _Your mother agreed to enter a war with Galbatorix once all three eggs were in our possession. There is no need to upset her over something that may never occur. She did not handle your death very well the first time._

"Well, I'd better go into Therinsford for more supplies. I only got enough rations to make it to the edge of Du Weldenvaren," and Brom promptly traipsed back towards town, leaving Eragon and Arya alone again.

"Thank you, Arya."

"For what?"

"For backing me up."

She closed her eyes. "It's not as if I had a choice Eragon."


	13. Ride

It was odd to be back on a horse. It was even stranger to see a dragon riding a horse. But there she was, curled up behind Eragon, her spikes jabbing him in the back whenever Artos jostled. Stranger still, Artos didn't seem to mind.

Arya hadn't been particularly pleased to be riding a horse that wasn't trained by the elves, but Brom certainly needed a mount, and by human standards, it would have seemed cruel for a man to use a horse and force a woman to walk. Eragon didn't mind not having to carry his pack anymore, though he kept Zar'roc on his hip just in case. Brom had returned from his second trek to Therinsford with Cadoc and Snowfire in tow, along with rations to last another few weeks. He handed a skirt to Arya, which she accepted silently and placed in Snowfire's left saddlebag without a second look. Snowfire, who had the best conformation of the horses present, had been handed to her immediately, and without complaint. _Leave it to Brom to get away with being chivalrous to an elven woman. If I had handed her Snowfire, she would have said-_

"I am not one of your weak human women who needs to be coddled."

 _Never mind._

"He likes you," Brom said, and the discussion ended there, for Snowfire was already relishing her gentle stroking.

By the end of the day, they had reached the end of the Anora river and reached the steep pass onto the plains.

Dinner was eaten in the same tense silence that had pervaded the rest of their trek. It was the kind of agitation that anticipated disaster, _or battle_ , Eragon thought, _which usually assumes disaster for one side or the other_. Arya kept her bow strung on her back, and Brom kept his staff at his side.

"Did an elf sing your staff for you?" Eragon asked, attempting to fill the silence. His own attempts at forging a useable wooden weapon with magic hadn't been fruitful, but as Rhunön had taught him, sometimes the spells needed to be used in the creation of the object itself.

"It belonged to an old friend." Brom replied. That was it.

Best Eragon could figure, it belonged to someone Brom had lost. Eragon could relate. Still, that was about as good a conversation as any they had for the first leg of their journey.

The days grew longer, and the travelers' tempers shorter, as they took things slow on the plains. With the Ra'zac behind them and Urû'bean ahead, the open plains seemed a haven. Since they could draw water from the earth, they happily avoided populated areas altogether. They kept the Spine in view to their right, bypassing Yazuac and Daret, eventually making their way to Lake Fläm.

Saphira, who by the end of the week was certainly too big to fit on Eragon's shoulders, and was beginning to burden Artos, leaped joyfully from her place behind Eragon and glided into a semi-graceful swan dive into the lake. She looked at him mournfully, attempting to coax him into a swim. Eragon slid off Artos, trusting him to his own devices. Squatting, he glanced the surface of the water with his fingertips and felt a shiver down his spine. _I don't have scales._ Eragon explained when Saphira keened again. Solstice may have passed, but there were still snowdrifts and chunks of ice. Turning around, he saw that there was already a fire blazing, and the horses were in the midst of being unsaddled. When they settled, Brom took out his pipe. He filled it with tobacco from a leather pouch. "Brisingr." His finger erupted a small blue flame, and the pipe began to smolder.

"I have been analyzing our situation for days." Arya began, as Brom tamped down the tobacco and lit his pipe again. "And while I agree that we need to capture the eggs, I fail to see a viable attack strategy given the information we have. Perhaps if you told us of Saphira's rescue, we could be better prepared."

"Simple." Brom let out a puff of smoke. Joed found a passageway linking the southern wall of Urû'bean to one of the old rider residences. After that though, your guess is as good as mine. Since, as you will remember, our thief was beheaded by a certain red rider."

"We should attack while Galbatorix is in Dras Leona." Eragon voiced, thankful that for once the oaths didn't stop the words before they left his mouth.

"Indeed," Brom agreed. "Though Galbatorix will not leave his citadel unattended. In the past-" Brom stood abruptly. Artos flicked an ear. "Someone's passed recently," he whispered, pointing to some nearby broken sticks and trampled grass.

"Probably an animal", Eragon replied, extending his mental reach to search the Area.

Arya kneeled at the site and picked up an oddly familiar-looking pouch. She turned it in her hands and sniffed, "Smells like -"

"Urgals." Eragon said, "And they recognized my presence. At least three can guard their minds."

"How many?"

"Six? Maybe more." Eragon replied. "Could be Kull, I'm not sure. I withdrew my mind as soon as they noticed my presence."

Brom glared. "If we survive this, we're continuing your training. If they already knew you were there, you could have gathered more intelligence."

Eragon started to close his eyes and was promptly slapped on the back of the head.

"Not now!" Brom's whisper turned harsh and raspy. "You've given them time to mount a defense!"

Eragon clenched his jaw and nodded.

 _Where is Saphira?_ Arya asked in their minds. She was stringing her bow.

 _At the bottom of the lake._ Eragon replied.

Brom set his staff aside and belted on his sword. _Tell her to stay there._

 _I'll try._ Eragon said. Saphira seemed to understand the concept of staying hidden but was focused on her own foe, a large trout in her vicinity.

They stood, weapons within reach. Arya heard their footsteps first. _That is not six urgals._ Brom commented as they came into view. Fifteen kull faced them, with a good hundred yards between groups. Neither side moved, both wary of the other.

Eragon looked to his left and right. _You are the one with experience negotiating with Urgals_. Arya said.

 _Brom?_ Eragon asked, eyes back on the Urgals, watching for the tell-tale sign of lowering horns.

 _I have experience fighting them, but this will be some fight even if they don't have magicians._

Eragon sighed. He raised his chin in a gesture of respect, trying to gauge who was leading the group. "Greetings Ulgragra," Eragon began, "I am shadeslayer and firesword. We have only stopped here to rest, and will move on quickly. We are not seeking battle."

An Urgal stepped forward, and also raised his chin, but said nothing. _I do not think they understand the common tongue._ Arya commented.

"Eka aí fricai," Eragon tried in the ancient language. If there was a magician among them, perhaps he would understand. "Eka aí sverd-istalrí."

Twelve bows pointed at them in unison, and the others hefted their axes. Arya's bow was aimed straight at the leader's head. _They must think I'm uttering spells._ Eragon thought. _You have wards, right?_ Eragon glanced towards his father.

 _No._

 _Brazûl! What were you thinking?_

Saphira must have felt his heart pounding because she chose this moment to burst out of the water. She dropped her catch at Eragon's feet, then moved to stand guard in front of the company, back arched and tail swaying. She was only knee high to Eragon, but was still intimidating, for all arrows now pointed at her. _I take it that Urgals and dragons don't exactly get along._ Eragon said.

 _Jarnunvösk,_ was Brom's stark reply.

Eragon cringed. Galbatorix's first dragon had been slain by Urgals, leading to his madness.

 _Ready?_ Arya asked, preparing a defensive spell in her mind. She gasped a bit at a sudden inrush of energy.

 _I am not fully recovered, but I will do what I can._ Glaedr added.

 _Ready._ Brom said, adjusting his grip on his sword.

The lead Urgal bellowed, "Trazhid!" and arrows flew in both directions.

Arya's spell bust in green light, and stopped the oncoming barrage, but hers met its mark in the bellowing Urgal's throat.

Eragon engaged in a mental battle with a nearby shaman. He had been in an Urgal's mind before but never fought one mentally. His barriers seemed to be composed of pure and blinding battle rage and were difficult to combat, let alone guard against. In the way that an elf's mind might lead a man to wondering madness, Eragon felt the kull swaying him to reckless abandon.

Arya held her spell, guarding both Eragon and Saphira. Brom darted in and out of her guard, attempted to thin the mass of Urgals hacking at her protective shield. Saphira managed to bite the ankle of a nearby Kull. He produced a startlingly high squeal.

Still, they were making little progress. Glaedr's initial inrush of energy was beginning to dwindle, and there were still thirteen Urgals in the fray. Brom and Saphira both sported bloody gashes, and the mental combatants remained as statues. _Can you use the energy in Aren?_ Eragon gasped.

 _You used it all_. Brom growled.

I _can't find a gap in his shields._ Eragon said. _It's like trying to break the mind of an angry dragon._

 _Perhaps we could be of assistance. This shield will not last long anyways._ Eragon felt Glaedr and Oromis engaging with the Shaman, who began to shake visibly, and soon collapsed. Though low on energy, Eragon's Ebrithilar were a force to be reckoned with.

Arya took up her sword at Saphira's side, and the Urgals' numbers dwindled to eleven.

A horn blew in the distant forest. "More magicians!" Eragon called, sensing more guarded minds. "Brisingr!" Blue tendrils rippled along the length of his sword.

Arya's foe paused, giving her chance to spear her sword through his chest.

The horn blew twice more while at least twenty more kull sprinted between the pines.

The kull Eragon was sparing continued to deflect his blows but refused to attack. Though he knew Urgals could be as cunning as any race, this was not a tactic he had expected from one so hot-blooded. It took Eragon a moment to notice that Saphira's growl was the only sound accompanying his clanging sword. In the corner of his eye, he saw fallen Urgals at the feet of both Brom and Arya, but eight remained and were backing away slowly, throats bared upwards. Eragon took a chance, leaping back he held an en garde position, waiting for a counterstrike. None came. Like his fellows, the Urgal in front of him barred his throat, though his eyes shown with contempt for the dragon still growling at his feet. To Eragon's surprise, he recognized the scraggly standard bolstered by the oncoming kull. It was that of Nar Garzvog's tribe. Though to his disappointment, he did not see his once-ally amongst them. An Urgal came a bit forwards, even as the others retreated. He said something none of them understood, in the Urgal's growling language, and gestured towards the still-burning sword in Eragon's hand. Eragon cut off the flames and slowly sheathed the weapon. The Urgal shook his head, irritated. He pointed at Eragon, repeating an earlier phrase, then pointed at brisignr. He lifted his chin and bellowed.

Eragon repeated the gesture, opting not to but heads.

The Urgal pointed to the lot of them and gestured towards the forest. He turned around and started, not turning back.

"Um…" Brom said. Saphira was scarfing down the remains of her trout.

"You coming?" Eragon asked.

Arya rolled her eyes, but followed, bow still in hand, pulling her arrow from a fallen Urgal as she passed.

* * *

 **Translations**

Brisingr : _Fire._ Also the word Eragon can't say without his sword bursting into flames. Hehe, oops.

Eka aí fricai. : _I am a friend_.

Eka aí Sverd-istalrí. : _I am firesword_. Eragon is translating the common tongue phrase, firesword. Also, he's trying not to set his sword ablaze in its sheath. Istalrí it is then. Also, nouns before adjectives.

Trazhid! : _Attack_! It's Ulgragrish. Urgalish... Urgal language... huh.

* * *

...Aaaaand if that ending made no sense, that would be because I got distracted and made the idea for this chapter about twice as long as anticipated. Oops. But, bonus battle scene. So there's that. Part two incoming. Admittedly this was a bit of a filler-chapter, but after last chapter's info inrush, I thought it needed something a little different. And let's face it, its entirely impossible for Eragon to go anywhere and not get into a fight. Plus, I like the idea of baby Saphira freaking out a bunch of full grown urgals. Hehe. Hope you guys enjoyed.


	14. Trust

The Kull ahead of them blended surprisingly well with the undergrowth of the Spine's foothills. Striated horns effectually mimicked flaking bark, and the dead, frosted leaves camouflaged grey skin. However, the thudding footsteps of sprinting kull betrayed their positions.

Though the pace was easy enough to keep for Eragon and Arya, Cadoc often had to break into a canter with Brom on his back. Saphira dodged skillfully between the trees. She rested for a moment, breathing heavily, while Brom dismounted to give Cadoc a break, mounting Snowfire in his stead.

"I don't know if Saphira can keep this up _."_ Eragon said, "She's never flown this fast or far before."

The kull sprinted on ahead, either unknowing or uncaring of the stragglers.

"You two go on." Brom said, waving his hand "I'll take an easier pace. It's not fair to keep the horses at this pace after today's ride. I'm not much enjoying it either."

"You're certain?" Arya asked. Though all the kull had now passed them by, the Spine was well-known for being treacherous.

"Aye. I'll look after her." He said, regarding the still-huffing dragon.

"We can wait, or we could bypass the kull entirely." Arya added.

"No." Eragon interjected. "We can't afford more enemies, and we just slew their kin. I think we need to follow through."

"You know this could very well be a trap." Brom warned.

"And if they spread word of our presence in the empire? Besides, I recognized the tribe's standard. Their leader is wise and fair, if a bit gruff, and they have just broken with Galbatorix. We need the allies, if we can get them."

Arya nodded. Begrudgingly, Eragon stooped and stroked Saphira's neck soothingly. _Stay with Brom. Hey,_ he replied to her keening. _Dragon and rider are only as strong together as they are apart._ She half-opened an eye. _And I need someone to_ p _rotect him for me._ He sent her both his love for her, and his…he wasn't sure love was the right word for his feelings towards Brom. _Worry? Affection? More often, annoyance._ Saphira, as usual, seemed to make sense of his emotions when he could not. She moved in front of Brom, taking a more ready stance, despite the still-trembling muscles in her wings. He gave her one last stroke, then gave in and wrapped his arms around her neck in an embrace.

"You're certain you'll be able to track us?" Arya asked.

"You think I can't follow a kull stampede?" Brom was insulted. "Besides, the tough part is for dragon and rider to be apart. Finding each other is easy."

"Ready?" Eragon asked, tearing his hand from Saphira's snout.

Arya nodded, and they set off at a sprint to catch up with the troop ahead of them. It didn't take them long. Eragon felt slight pressure from Arya's now-familiar mind, and automatically allowed her entrance. As usual, she barely brushed his conscience, allowing him minimal access to her emotions, and never treading far enough to encounter memories. Still, it was an unavoidably intimate way to communicate. Eragon relished her touch, simultaneously hoping his mental walls prevented his roiling emotions from crossing their link.

 _I am surprised you parted with your dragon so easily._ She said.

He was surprised. On the whole, elves disliked prying into each others' personal affairs. Especially Arya… _especially after…_ he nearly shuddered at the memory of a week prior, when she had practically forced him to confess his affections for her. He distracted himself for a moment, so his emotions wouldn't be prevalent in his answer, focusing on his pounding feet, and his muscles that were beginning to ache.

 _Easy is not the word for it._ He replied. _Saphira acquitted herself well in her first fight, but I would rather not bring her into a possibly hostile Urgal camp._

 _You think she'll be safer in the Spine?_

 _With Brom and Glaedr to guard her? Aye._

 _We stand little chance against the kull ourselves without their assistance._

 _You could have voiced your concerns earlier._

 _There were no good options. And as you said, we cannot risk being discovered prematurely, and need this alliance._

 _Right._ Eragon was thoroughly confused, and Arya could obviously feel it.

 _I only wished for you to understand the weight of your decision._ She clarified.

 _Thanks._ He replied, shaking his head ever-so-slightly.

They ran for another two hours at least, painfully aware that the kull had discreetly surrounded them, before Eragon smelled a faint whiff of steam. _Stew._

The kull slowed, and not long after, they entered a clearing. Nearly a hundred Urgals were relaxing at nearby campfires, and all of them were kull. The surrounding Urgals came closer, clearly forming a ring around them. Though from the indignant emotions Eragon sensed from the Urgals, perhaps the guard was for his and Arya's protection.

In a moment, after more bellows exchanged in greeting, the Urgal they had first followed pointed vaguely towards Eragon. "Me?" He asked, pointing at himself.

The Urgal shook his head. "Firesword." he said, pointing to Brisingr.

Eragon looked nervously to Arya, who granted him no reply.

Slowly, he eased brisingr out of its sheath, eyeing the surrounding urgals for sudden moves. "Brisingr."

A few urgals shifted positions, seemingly uncomfortable, but the Urgal before him gave smiled, pointing to Eragon, and said "Firesword", before continuing on in Ulgragrish.

Eragon noticed how strange it was to see an urgal smile. Though, it was likely because he often had trouble reading their expressions at all.

After a few minutes of tense discussion, Eragon finally found a familiar face. He was greeted with a gruff "Greetings Firesword."

"Greetings Nar Garzhvog," Eragon replied, again raising his chin.

"Come." Garzhvog said, "You are hungry? Yes?" He waved them over to a nearby fire — the only one not crowded with Urgals — which had a dear roasting over a spit. Garzhvog sat down, and after a moment, Eragon and Arya did the same. _Hellfire_ _._ Eragon thought. The meat smelled good — really good — especially after not having eaten all day.

"It will be done soon." Garzhvog said, happy to wait for the meal to discuss their presence.

"Thank you, Nar Garzhvog," Arya spoke, "but as elves do not eat meat, we can gather our own dinner."

Eragon opened his mouth to argue, but decided against it. The last thing he wanted to do was give Arya another reason to be displeased with him.

Garzhvog looked at her strangely, but didn't comment. Eragon gestured towards the bear stomach suspended on a wooden frame over the fire. "Go ahead." Garzhvog did with gusto. To Eragon's chagrin, his stomach growled loud enough for Arya to hear. She looked… repulsed.

Garzhvog brought the stone bowl to his mouth and slurped the lest vestiges of his stew. "You killed seven of my Ulgragra."

Eragon crossed his arms. "Your Ulgragra were going to shoot my dragon."

"Yundran," Garzvog gestured to the Urgal that had recalled the attack, "tells me you approached on friendly terms until you began casting spells. If you did not have magic sword, you would be dead."

"Perhaps." Eragon gave a diagonal nod. "But I was not casting a spell. I said that I was a friend, and that I am Firesword. Ask those who were there, my palm did not glow with the energy required for magic."

"And you cannot spell your hand to make it not glow?"

"I…could." Eragon conceded. Truthfully, it had never occurred to Eragon to prevent others from seeing his palm glow from spells. If he could bend light to keep others from seeing him, he could certainly bend it to prevent others from seeing light radiating from his palm. _Though gloves are a simpler solution._

"But you are firesword." Garzhvog continued. "I do not believe you would save our race, and pardon those who slew your kin, only to seek revenge now."

"If I was seeking revenge," Eragon said, surveying the surrounding kull, "this would be a stupid way to do it."

"Indeed." Garzhvog said, swallowing a fierce chuckle. "Why are you here? By our namna, it has been many generations since elves have walked these lands.

"It was not our intention to cross paths with anyone." Arya supplied. "Our path was merely consequence of avoiding the empire's settlements. To our knowledge, this land was uninhabited."

"Why leave the elf-wood at all?" Garzhvog pushed on.

"We are going to steal the dragon's eggs from Urû'baen." Eragon replied.

There was a noticeable silence in the camp at these words, and Eragon began to wonder if more Urgals understood the common tongue than he had previously imagined. He turned back towards Garzhvog, who was chewing on his words.

"You fight against the oath-breaker?"

"We do." Eragon replied.

"Yet you speak your plans to the Ulgragra. Why?"

"We need allies if we are going to succeed."

"The elves?"

"…Have agreed to start a war against Galbatorix if we hold the dragon eggs. The dwarves and Varden have also agreed on these conditions."

Garhzvog shifted back to rest on his palms. He didn't reply though, and the rest of the camp had caught on to the gravity of the conversation, supplying an unnerving pause in the general calamity.

Yundran approached cautiously with a few longer-horned kull of the bunch. He proceeded to ask a few questions in Ulgragrish, and their word-flow became more gruff and grisly as the discussion intensified. In the end, Eragon could hardly tell a word from a bellow.

"We are far from our dams." Garzhvog supplied suddenly, by way of explanation. It will be many moons for Urgalgra to have war council. But I am war-cheif. I say we listen, but I ask, what will you give us in return? Your own people do not help you, and you want my kull to risk their lives?

"Dealing a blow against Galbatorix is not enough?" Arya asked.

Eragon gave Arya a sideways glance and pressured her mind pleadingly.

 _You would offer them more?_ She inquired.

 _They are invaluable allies._

 _We are hardly in a position to negotiate on behalf of anyone._

 _We are in a position to try._ Eragon replied.

She gave a subtle nod.

Eragon re-entered the physical reality mid-rant by Garzhvog, who was adamantly defending Urgals' honor.

Eragon raised a hand gently. "Nar Garzhvog"

He paused.

"There is nothing we can offer now besides our friendship." Eragon continued. "However, if we are successful in this venture, and the Ulgragra choose to join the effort against Galbatorix, you will be treated as equal allies, with a seat in the inner war council. And if we are victorious, a share of land will be given to you, so that your rams may have new land to hunt and expand."

Something akin to a snort escaped Garzhvog. "If you tell me you will speak on the Urgralgra's behalf to elf-queen Deathstare, I would be happy. Instead, you give many promises. You are alone here. You want help. How do I know your words are not empty or twisted? Even if you want to keep promises, by whose authority do you speak?"

Eragon started, but Arya undercut him with an air of authority he could not muster. "Eragon is the last free rider, and I the elven ambassador. If there is anyone who could sway the rebellion to these terms, it is those who sit before you."

"Ambassadors speak for their chiefs, and firesword's dragon is a cub. He is no doubt a skilled warrior and friend of the Ulgragra. But I know of the riders. Time and effort give you honor in the elf-forest, not kills. Why will they listen to you?"

Arya's gaze grew more veiled, and Eragon retreated into his lessons. _What do Urgals respect? Heirarchy, battle skills… Neither are applicable here. So what do our cultures have in common?_

"My father created the Varden." Eragon added softly. "He was their first leader, and is well respected among the humans." _Even the raz'zac respect family ties._

"You speak of Brom?"

"I do. I have human blood. My father, the man who is traveling with us, is slayer of Morzan and bane of the foresworn. The Varden will listen to his council. And the elves…will listen to the esteemed daughter of queen... Deathstare."

Arya blinked.

"You are the elf princess?"

Arya nodded tersely.

"Hmmm. In that case, we will fight under the conditions Firesword described. I do not wish to send my rams alone into the dark city, but we can talk at morning light. Now find food for yourselves, there should be suitable foliage near the stream." He gestured to the trees at his left. He chuckled a bit. "You should go upstream."

* * *

Eragon and Arya scoured the rambling streambed by early moonlight, foraging for their dinner. Though they were south of Carvahal, the ecosystem remained much the same throughout the Spine. Eragon was enticed by the familiar landscape, and found early spring rasberries, blackberries, and a scattering of edible shrooms. Arya added some roots to the mix.

When they had gathered enough to cover breakfast as well, they headed back in their now-usual silence, which continued as they ate now steaming mushrooms and Arya's gathered roots. _My mother does not take council from me._ Arya professed.

Out of all the things she could have said, this took Eragon by surprise. He had expected her to scold him for revealing her relation to the elvish royalty, or to bemoan Garzhvog calling her a princess. _Your people will._ Eragon countered.

Though he received no reply, the starlit silence was notably friendlier than before.


	15. Listen

**Author's Note**

I've done my best to approach issues through the character's eyes. More details at the bottom.

* * *

The drawstring brushed Eragon's lip. He measured his draw by distance instead of the tension. It wouldn't be the first time a human-made bow snapped in his hands. He cringed, anticipating the squelching before his arrow lodged through both the buck's lungs. Worse, Eragon felt himself die with it as he siphoned its energy into the gem in his pocket. A blue flurry filled his vision, pouncing delightedly on his kill. "Wait!" he yelled.

Saphira paused, jaws hovering open above the slain deer's neck.

"This one's mine." Eragon scolded. "I put this off too long already; I will need to return soon."

This only hardened Saphira's resolve to mall her rider's kill, if just to keep him by her side a moment longer.

"Hatchling," he mumbled derisively, to the dragon now twice his height. " ... still relying on your rider to hunt for you."

Saphira's eyes narrowed. Her still-frozen jaw snapped with a clack. Saphira shared in his mind. She knew what he was doing: toying with her sense of pride. That didn't prevent his underhanded tactics from working. Saphira huffed, puffed her chest, and sauntered past him, brushing his shoulder, nearly toppling him on her way into the woods.

"Love you Saphira!" he called, hefting the deer's carcass over his shoulder. "See you in the morning!" Though she ruffled her wings proudly, by their bond, she returned the sentiment.

* * *

Eragon tore through the underbrush, racing the setting sun, slowing as the foliage thinned. He passed dilapidated houses; torn by the elements and pillaged by men. He stopped on the porch of a small cottage cobbled from the store of an adjacent field.

"You're late," Brom spluttered, his pipe getting in the way of his words.

"A few hours won't hurt anyone." Though it was early spring, the past week had brought yet another wet white blanket across the land that stuck to the trees — hopefully meaning the last snow of the season.

Eragon lifted the buck off his shoulder and easily tied it head-up to a high limb of an oak to let the blood drain.

"Look," Brom said, rising from his three-legged stool. "I know this hasn't been easy, going against your lessons." He eyed the buck pointedly.

"Humans have to eat somehow." Eragon shrugged, having succumbed to his role months ago. The four of them had settled in a popular stopping point a days ride from Uru'baen. Urgal raids had cleared the town of residents, but with the Empire gathering troops, the tavern had never been busier. They were keeping their ears to the ground, waiting for the day Shruikin's black shadow fled the castle for Dras Leona. Brom was entertaining, and Eragon had the unfortunate job of killing dinner.

"Couldn't tear yourself away from her then?" Brom said with a sad smile. "I know that feeling well."

"You there!" interrupted a call from their left. A plump woman, the tavern's keeper, trudged down the hill.

Eragon started to reply but heard a light scraping as Arya jumped off the roof above them, landing in a crouch, brushing off her skirt as if nothing unusual had occurred.

"Up to your usual mischief April?"

"Yes Ms. Winchel," Arya gave a polite smile. She nodded to Eragon, giving him and the blood-dripping buck wide birth as she headed off down the road.

Ms. Winchel shook her head, stray hairs waving. "I don't know where your cousin goes Bergan," she said to Eragon, "but with the finery she brings back, I wish she would bring her mischief to my tavern. A woman like April is worth more than a storyteller any day." She winked in Brom's direction.

Eragon grimaced but refrained from replying. This too, he had grown unfortunately accustomed to in the past months.

"Watch it," Brom croaked. His reply was always the same.

"Come now Ian, I'm only jesting." She made her way to Eragon's side, eyeing his kill. "Only one? And barely back before dark? Ha! Maybe you're human after all."

Brom halted. Eragon pushed his hair behind his ear casually, checking that it was still mundanely rounded, altered with magic.

"What is it with you people? No sense of humor." She patted him on the shoulder. "Come round when 'e's ready." She gave a wink and a wave towards Brom and headed back to preparations for the night.

"Yes, ma'am." Eragon called after her.

Brom watched her disappear over the hill. "She's right you know."

"I know. I should have been more cautious. I've brought at least kill per trip without fail. She's bound to notice something's strange."

"Probably," Brom concurred. "But I meant about Arya. She could be a great help collecting information."

"She is a great help." Eragon countered, "Who do you think has been dredging up these?" he asked, pulling a small handful of rough jewels from his pocket. They were flawed but multitudinous. "You have Aren, but we need someplace to store energy, and I can hardly go about Urû'baen with a rider's sword at my hip if we want to remain unnoticed. Besides, I thought it was the help that hears everything."

"Ha! In a manor, sure. But in a tavern? A beautiful woman and a few pints will open many a man's minds quicker than a wizard's duel. You could dig up stones easily enough. She's putting herself to waste."

Eragon didn't have words. He really didn't. Only an intense frown and a terrible pressure building behind his eyes. Brom had, he thought, hinted at this before. But for his father to suggest-

"I don't mean she has to do anything." He held his palms out as if guarding against Eragon's stare. "Sometimes playing coy is the best way, I mean, look at the spell she's lain on you. Trust me, I understand. I mean, how do you think your mother did so well in her work? She knew to put her assets to good use…"

The pressure was a searing pain, and his hunting knife was hilt deep in oak. "What kind of man are you?" Eragon called in anguish.

He yearned to defend his mother's honor, shout her praises with the stars as a witness. Maybe that's why it hurt. The black hand of Morzan: prized assassin, devoid of pity, ravisher of pain. And Eragon, her bastard son. Brom had become, in his mind, the white knight who saved Selena from captivity and cruelty, allowing her honorable nature to flourish once more. Never had it occurred to him that in his revenge-ridden quest to rid Morzan of all he cared for, that perhaps Brom had lost a bit of his honor too. Eragon backed slowly, boots carving trenches in the snow. "What kind of man are you?" he whispered, leaving Brom in the dusk. Ms. Winchel could do without him for one cold night.

He tracked the red-spattered snow back through the wood. The last place he needed to be now was a tavern. Smoke in his lungs, clatter scraping his ears, and forcing himself to move in slow motion tore at his nerves. He envied Arya, who kept Saphira company in the moonlit hours, though not now. The still wood did nothing to appease his racing thoughts. His hands, still bloodied, drew his eye. He tore them desperately through the snow, incessantly scraping his frozen skin.

"Verma," came a quiet whisper, a green glow.

Warmth spread through the surrounding snow, melting it to soothing water.

"I told you from the beginning of this venture," Arya chided gently. "Do not let Winchel's terse words fluster you. I can care for myself."

"I know," he replied, feeling Saphira's warmth at his back as she encircled them both, her open wing guarding against the chilling wind. Since her hatching, Saphira had yet to speak, but she was always quick to listen. And listen they did. Branches clacked, wind whirled, and silence reigned until snow crunched and Saphira snaked her head round to gaze at Arya imploringly.

Arya nodded. "In these short months we have faced innumerable challenges, yet never have you appeared so troubled." She brushed her hair behind her tapered ear. "This is not Ms. Winchel's doing."

"No" he shifted, facing her. "I thought elves didn't pry into the affairs of others."

Saphira's tail twitched, her rumble announcing her deep displeasure.

"Were we not friends once?" her statement held quiet desperation he had not seen before. Out of respect, Eragon had hereto held to cordial conversation. Though it occurred to him that in pines, plains, or mountains, true friendship seemed a rarity to her as much as it was to him.

"It was not Winchel, but Brom."

"Ah." She replied knowingly. "I take it he's still cross that I'm not slaving in the tavern with the two of you?"

"He implied a bit more than that."

"Hmm. He's wrong you know. I'll not give the men what they seek, and silencing them would draw too much attention. I'm of more use here."

"It's the principle. What honorable man asks such a thing? I see now that I hardly know the man. Him… or my mother." his words faded at the end, nearly succumbing to the still whirling wind."

Though by her round eyes he could see that she inferred his meaning.

"70 years I have known your father, and that is no short time even among us immortals. He welcomed me to the Varden even as my mother shunned me, and schooled me in the common tongue and the ways of men. He is not perfect, true enough. Though, I have not known another to devote themselves so completely to their cause. He and your mother both, have sacrificed everything of themselves to taking down Galbatorix. Even, it seems, their very bodies."

"That is too great a sacrifice, I think."

"It is terrible, yes. But it was the nature of their work, to embody another being so completely that their very emotions could not betray them to watching spellcasters. Brom believes such sacrifices are necessary to win a war."

The warmth of Saphira's back, her steady breath, and the occasional smoke trickling from Saphira's nostrils lent him some measure of peace. "It cannot be. There must be another path."

"I hope you are right.

Arya's insights lead him down another trail. _What do I believe is necessary to win a war? What is worth sacrificing?_ Certainly not his loved ones. Brom at least agreed with him on that. _Yet, I have sacrificed the lives of innocents that stood in the way to victory, and I would do so again — I will do so again._ This troubled him to no end. Here he deemed one life above another. _Without loved ones, life is hardly worth living._ He was needed to end Galbatorix, and he needed his loved ones to press on. That is what it came to. Not some higher ideal to strive for, but a cold, terrible road that he had journeyed down before. _My mother using her body as a tool — sacrificing something of herself — seems nobler than this._ He saw Arya sprawled limp before him. He had placed his life above hers.

Opening his eyes, he saw her, leaning still against Saphira's flank, gazing unseeingly into her waking dreams. She was here, alive. Saphira's rumbling snore, which once kept him from sleep, was now an immeasurable comfort.

Oromis had warned him against becoming a man who loved the carnage of war, and he knew now another line he would not cross. Eragon would never again forbid himself from putting others' lives before his own. _Father fought for freedom after the fall, and I after him. Others will come after us. If I cannot believe this, then why fight at all?_

Eragon's moonlit shadow aimed eastward as he trudged back to the tavern. All was quiet, as surely any visitors had paid the tavern its due and settled an abandoned house for the night's lodgings. In the dim, Eragon spotted a lone figure shuffling from the tavern to the nearby shed, whose open sides had allowed a handsbreadth of snow to settle on the rushes shored up for winter. With a pale blue light, the snow brushed neatly aside by an unearthly gale, leaving dry rushes in its wake. Eragon followed the figure, taking up a shovel after him.

It was a terrible time to be spreading new rushes across the sprawling tamped earthen floor, which was no small task in itself. Dark, dank, and cold, the night's ale and occasional upheaval betrayed the small but rowdy bunch that had taken the tavern by storm. Yet, few things ease a busy mind like busy hands. Brom and Eragon determined, with unspoken consent, to replace the rushes in their entirety, instead of saving what they could. The floor perhaps needed it, but they needed the time more.

They were removing the last of the rushes from the corner of the tavern, where they were stubbornly cemented in place. Brom rammed his foot into the shovel again and again, with no luck. Eragon set a gentle hand atop Brom's. With a grudging nod, Brom allowed Eragon to take his stead, and he easily cleared the corner with a graceful motion. Aside from his elven strength, Eragon had the unfortunate advantage of practice. Birka and Brugh's stalls had not cleaned themselves in years gone by.

"I think… I understand." Eragon conceded to breaking the silence. "I don't like it. I don't admire it. But, there are plenty of things I've done in battle I'm not proud of."

Brom took a pipe from his pocket, lighting it with a spark of magic that leapt from his finger. The work was only half done, but the rest was warranted. Brom leveled his gaze with Eragon's. "There's a reason we wanted you away from this life, your mother and I."

"You didn't want me near magic."

"Magic has nothing to do with it." Brom forced the words out like a curse.

"You've done a lot of good."

"By killing a lot of people."

"I think its called war."

Brom fiddled with his pipe. Putting his finger over the bowl to put it out again. He set it aside, still smoldering.

"You would have gotten into war one way or another. We always knew that. It's been brewing for a long time now."

Eragon's head canted, betraying his ever-present curiosity.

"I didn't want you to turn out like me."

Brom picked his pipe up again, examining the smoke still ebbing from the ashes.

"Don't misunderstand me, I'm proud of what we accomplished. But, living a life that's not yours, it's not war. Lines aren't drawn, and standards don't tell you where to aim. When you embed yourself in the enemy's house, you have to think like the enemy. You make friends to betray them. Eventually... it feels easier than the truth. I thought, with all you've been through… you might've ended up like me. But Garrow did right by you." He offered a small, but much-needed smile. "In fact, you're still mighty naive yourself. Take care that you stay that way."

Eragon noticed another patch of rushes, the morning light aiding his search. "You know I'm still proud to be your son…both of you."

"I'm sorry for making you-" Brom swallowed hard, Adam's apple bobbing. "I never wanted you to lead a life like mine."

Eragon knew the oaths had stopped him mid-speech, and he knew the oaths were what he referred to. Eragon would have to play a role from here on out, the depths of which they did not yet understand. "It was-"

Frantic pounding jostled the doorframe, causing the candles to flicker. Arya rushed in, deadbolt bursting from the oaken door. "I saw him. Shruikan."

The time had come.

* * *

 **Author's Note Cont'd**

Hey guys, this was not the fun filler chapter I meant to write. Oops. Hope you enjoyed some soul-searching angst instead. As promised, a more in-depth look at character history and motivations:

Eragon the idealist. Eragon was raised to believe humans get married, then have kids... anything else comes with serious social backlash. (Roran and Katrina rush their marriage when she gets pregnant.) His mother's reputation seems to terrify him.

Maybe Brom reveals so little of himself because he's afraid of the man he's become. Brom was raised by elves (who don't have marriage customs), and has been doing everything in his power to hurt Morzan, possibly even trying to seduce Selena (before they fell in love). He's expecting Eragon to have the same battle-hardened, do-whatever's-necessary attitude he's had. Except, Brom's been doing this stuff for about a century longer than Eragon has. Eragon and Brom don't see eye to eye, and in the end, Brom's glad that his son hasn't been the through the same shit he has.

Arya's trying to help Eragon see Brom's perspective, not necessarily promote her view. But, she's not gonna play Brom's game either. She'd believes guarding Saphira is more important, and would rather keep an eye on the sky herself instead of listening to human rumors. In the end, that works for her.

* * *

 **Translations**

Verma - heat (ancient language)


End file.
